Awakened Memories
by Beregond5
Summary: AU. Gimli speaks rudely to Haldir, the marchwarden. That reminds Aragorn of the time he first crossed Moria, as well as of the friendship he formed with an unusual elf. Inspired by a scene in the Extended Version of the DVD.
1. Prologue

"_I too once passed the Dimrill Gate," said Aragorn quietly; "but though I also came out again, the memory is very evil. I do not wish to enter Moria a second time."_

**(J.R.R Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring, p. 390)**

_Prologue_

**The Year 3019 of the Third Age**

_**Borders of Lothlórien **_

Legolas and Aragorn talked with Haldir, the march warden that the Fellowship had come across upon entering the woods of Lothlórien, as the rest of the group waited anxiously to see what the outcome of this conversation would be. They hardly understood what the two Elves and the Man were saying, but all of them hoped things would turn out for the best; they had already been through enough hardships.

There was one, however, who started growing quite impatient as time passed. Worse, he was no longer bothering to hide it. Though Gimli had been assured that Orcs wouldn't dare enter the well-guarded realm, he couldn't help thinking that too much precious time was wasted in seemingly idle talk. The fact that he also had to hear the Elven tongue constantly didn't help matters at all, and he decided that he couldn't put up with that kind of situation any longer.

"Enough with the fabled courtesy of the Elves!" he snapped, looking crossly at Haldir. "And speak a language we can all understand!"

Haldir regarded Gimli with quite the disdain on his handsome features. It was clear that the Elf wasn't pleased to see a Dwarf among the members of the Fellowship. Even so, he kept his tone civil as he answered him, "We have not had dealings with the Dwarves since the Dark Days."

Unfortunately, that answer wasn't enough to appease Gimli.

"And you know what the Dwarf says to that? _Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul!_"

The march warden glared at Gimli, his eyes wide. He didn't understand the words, but it didn't take a great mind to guess that it wasn't a Dwarven pleasantry. Aragorn, however, understood what Gimli said quite perfectly and he faced the Dwarf quite dismayed.

"_That_ was not so courteous!" he scolded.

Taken aback by Aragorn's just anger, Gimli finally fell silent and waited patiently for the Man to talk Haldir into accepting them to Caras Galadhon. Perhaps Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel would want to speak with them and help them continue on their journey after some proper rest.

_**Caras Galadhon**_

Aragorn rested his back against the trunk of the great tree that would shelter the Fellowship for as long as they would stay within the borders of Lothlórien. The Hobbits were already sleeping, and the Man couldn't help but look at their intelligent round faces relaxed in heavy sleep. These four needed as much sleep as they could get, for they were the least accustomed to long hardships and dangerous journeys. And there was Gandalf's death to be considered as well. The loss of their guide and leader seemed to be the worst thing that could happen to the Fellowship, leaving all of them emotionally drained. Aragorn tried to be strong, carrying the burden of responsibility that had passed down to him after Gandalf's fall, but now he only wanted to have a few moments of peace and forget. He shut his eyes, but he opened them again when he heard heavy footsteps near him. Gimli was pacing, seeming lost in thought as he held the pipe in his mouth.

"You have trouble sleeping?" Aragorn asked.

"I fear so," Gimli answered with a sigh, the smoke he had inhaled escaping his lips. "I figured some pipe-weed would help."

Aragorn nodded his understanding. Silence reigned for some time, but Gimli broke the spell.

"Did you know or did you just guess?"

The Man faced Gimli, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I am talking about when I snapped at that Elf. Did you understand what I said or did you guess it?"

Aragorn's lips tugged into a small, amused smile. "You said 'I spit on your grave.'"

Gimli raised an eyebrow. "And you know that… how?"

"A friend told me what it meant. A very long time ago," Aragorn answered. "I hope you are not angry," he added, cocking his head to the side.

"Angry? No," Gimli replied, smiling. "If a Dwarf trusted you enough to teach you even that small sample of our Tongue, then you are a worthy man indeed."

Aragorn understood, and he bowed his head. "Thank you, Master Dwarf. I appreciate it."

Gimli nodded, blowing a small smoke ring, and then rubbed the back of his neck in a tired manner. "Well, I don't know about you, but I think I will go have that rest," he declared.

"A wise choice," Aragorn noted kindly. "And do not worry; we are in one of the safest realms in Middle-earth."

"Yes, it _is_ a fine place… for one filled with Elves, I mean," Gimli admitted. "Well, have a good night."

"Goodnight, Master Dwarf," Aragorn said.

With that, Gimli turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the Man alone with his thoughts. Aragorn watched him go, wondering if he should ask Gimli whether he had heard of his friend or not. Dwarves shared close bonds between themselves and there was a chance that the two had met. Then again,Aragorn still remembered his friend's words: he hadn't been openly accepted except by his family, and he hadn't made all that many friendships in his life. He simply preferred the shelter that his home provided.

Aragorn sighed slightly and dug his own pipe out of his pack. A few moments later, he was smoking in thought, memories of his old acquaintance invading his mind, and he couldn't help but wonder how Ceranos was faring. It had been such a long time since their meeting, almost sixty years ago…

TBC...


	2. An Unusual Elf

_**Almost seventy years ago**_

A bright sun reigned over the autumn sky-dome, warming and lightening everything with its rays. There wasn't much wildlife in that particular area of Wilderland, near the river of Sîr Ninglor, even if there were still trees and bushes abundant. The only moving thing that one could see was a flock of swallows flying above, getting ready for their great journey to the south. And the graceful birds hardly noticed the lone figure that was travelling north on foot below them.

The young man moved with ease and with the air of someone who had trodden the wild area many times before in the past. His clothes were covered with mud and dust after many leagues of walking, and his gear didn't consist of much. Just a blanket, which he had made into a roll and now carried on his back, his small provisions of basic food and water, as well as a sword and a bow. It was fairly obvious that the twenty-year-old lad was one of the Rangers of the North, a wandering people who offered protection and assistance wherever it was required. Even so, none could have possibly imagined that that young rogue of a Ranger, who some knew and called by the name of Strider, was actually Aragorn, son of Arathorn, descendant of Isildur and rightful heir to the throne of Gondor, the most powerful realm of the race of Men in Middle-earth.

Aragorn had been travelling for almost three full days now and his whole body ached in protest. Nevertheless he didn't want to stop, at least not yet. The news he had heard from Rivendell was quite unsettling and he wanted to return to his home as soon as possible. Yes, Elrond had assured him in his letter that Elladan was out of danger, but Aragorn didn't feel he could remain in Lothlórien any longer while knowing his foster brother had been injured.

'_I need to see him, Lady__. I can't help but worry, for he escaped death by the skin of his teeth. What came over him to go after deer on such dangerous hunting grounds I will never know.'_

His mind replayed the conversation he had had with the fair and wise Lady of Lothlórien before setting off once more. Lady Galadriel had also tried to talk Aragorn out of travelling back to Rivendell for the next few days, but the Man wouldn't have it. In the end, Galadriel had to give her consent on Aragorn's departure, advising him, in her ever so enigmatic manner, that he should avoid the dark places of the world. That kind of notion hadn't even crossed his mind, so Aragorn had every intention of following her advice, even if he wasn't certain what it meant.

Aragorn's musings were cut short as he stumbled, his legs faltering. Swearing under his breath, he got back on his feet in a wish to continue on, but his limbs simply wouldn't comply. Accepting his fatigue, he sat on a rock by the edge of the river and rid his weary legs of his boots. The cool water should relax his pained muscles and he would be able to have his rest.

Sure enough, as the moments passed, he felt his strength renewed. Even if he didn't like the idea that he still had to go such a long distance before reaching his home, he also realised that it couldn't be helped; the only other available route was south, through the Gap of Rohan and it took even longer. He knew that there used to be another path in the old days, through the long-deserted city of Khazad-dûm. That name, however, bore ill among the Elves and whoever spoke of it couldn't help but shudder because of the implied terrors that lingered there; for Khazad-dum belonged to the Orcs now, though the Dwarves had tried time and time again to reclaim what was rightfully theirs. It was only prudent that Aragorn should continue on the course he was taking now, as it was a lot safe. And, as long as he kept a good pace, he would get to Imladris in about two weeks or so.

Arwen would probably be there too…

Aragorn sighed as the woman's graceful form and unmatched beauty reflected in his mind. He wanted to see Elladan, but there was a chance his visit to Rivendell would be uncomfortable. The fact that he had fallen in love with Elrond's daughter wasn't a notion all that well-received, even if his foster family understood that Aragorn's feelings were pure. There was also no denying that Arwen and he belonged to two different races entirely. That was what Elrond had told him as well, the night before Aragorn had decided to take up the hard life of a Ranger, no less; and the Man had to admit that Elrond was right. But… Aragorn also knew that his heart told him otherwise, and what it told him was too powerful to ignore. He yearned to see Arwen again, and the mere thought of her made his heart pound happily in his chest.

"Begging your pardon, fellow traveller. Is the water clear enough to drink?"

Aragorn turned around, startled at the unknown voice he heard so close behind him, and he saw a most curious sight. There, before him, was a tall and powerful form, adorned in thick armour and with a large double-headed axe in the gloved hands. Though alarmed at first, the form's friendly jade eyes that shone through an iron helmet regarded him in such a friendly manner that all thoughts of worry ebbed in an instant.

"Well?" the same strong voice asked, a small smile tugging discernibly on the stranger's lips.

Aragorn remembered himself, realising that he hadn't answered the question.

"It is! Pray, go ahead," he said quickly, smiling also in a friendly manner. "The river is here for all travellers."

"Thank you," the armoured figure replied, inclining his head a little in a courteous manner. He unfastened his gourd from the side of his leather belt with a swift movement and knelt down by the riverbank. "Where are you heading?" he asked Aragorn politely while filling the gourd with the clear liquid.

"Toward the High Pass and from then on to Rivendell," Aragorn answered. In that moment, the figure used his free hand to take off his helmet as the heat of the sun obviously proved too uncomfortable for him, revealing the long, raven-black hair that was neatly fixed into one thick braid… and his leaf-shaped ears.

_An Elf?_ Aragorn thought. That explained the stranger's strikingly handsome and youthful features. Yet Aragorn had grown up among Elves, and this was the first time that he saw one carrying an axe, a weapon favoured by Dwarves rather than any other creature. Come to think of it, the Elf's armour was wrought to resemble a Dwarf's as well. Considering the animosity between the Firstborn and Aulë's creations, it seemed a very strange thing indeed.

"You cannot take the High Pass."

"Excuse me?" Aragorn asked, surprised.

"The path leading to the High Pass has been blocked by rocks due to some avalanche or other," the Elf replied. "I saw it with my own eyes and had to retrace my steps."

"When was that?"

"Less than two weeks ago."

"These are unfortunate tidings indeed," said Aragorn, dismayed. "I am in a hurry and now this had to happen!"

"I am sorry," the Elf said sincerely. "Perhaps the path has been cleared by now."

Aragorn appreciated such kind words, admittedly. But he also felt intrigued. The stranger's manner of speaking sounded more halting and more pronounced at the 'r' than any Elves of any race he had encountered, and it made this Firstborn a moving mystery. Was it possible that he belonged to a race Aragorn hadn't heard of?

He didn't have the luxury to ponder on it for long, however, for the Elf was still regarding him curiously, expecting a reply.

"I do not think the path can be cleared completely in such a short time. And I would not want to risk further delay by going on because of some uncertain hope."

"That is reasonable. Then my best advice to you is to turn back and travel again at a more favourable time."

"What about you?" Aragorn asked. "You wanted to go through the Pass as well."

"I will test my luck under the mountains."

Aragorn's felt his eyes widen in disbelief. "Through the Mines of Moria?"

"Indeed," the Elf answered. "It is the swiftest way to my destination."

"And the most dangerous."

"Not to one who knows its secrets. Have no fear; I will be all right. Good fortune to you, fellow traveller." With a slight nod of farewell, the stranger put his helmet back on, shielding almost of all his face except for his sea-green eyes and his mouth, and then started marching away, his axe resting comfortably on his unusually - for an Elf - broad shoulder.

Aragorn also bowed his head, regretting the fact that he had travelled so far only to turn back now. As he watched the Elf walking away, though, an idea formed in his mind.

"Wait!"

The stranger faced Aragorn, his surprise and curiosity evident in his eyes.

"May I come with you?"

The Elf raised an eyebrow. "Do you really wish that? Moria is indeed a dangerous place. I would avoid going there myself if I could help it."

"You claim you know its secrets and I believe you; you would not have considered that option otherwise," Aragorn reasoned. "Besides, they do say safety comes in numbers."

"Two hardly makes numbers against the terrors of the mines," the Elf pointed out.

"I am a better fighter than you think." Aragorn suspected that the stranger looked down on him, probably thinking a Man couldn't possibly have the fighting skill an Elf did. Aragorn, however, had been trained by Elves, and he was familiar even with elven techniques of fighting. He wasn't to be underestimated when it came down to the heat of battle.

The stranger didn't snort in disbelief or even jeer, as Aragorn had half-expected him to. He simply locked his jade gaze on the stormy grey one, and finally smiled good-naturedly.

"Your eyes tell me you speak the truth. Not to mention I see a strong fire burning within them, as I have not seen in most people I have come across - and, trust me when I say this, I have seen quite a lot during my life. But still," he added with a slight smirk, "I should warn you that it is not very wise to travel with someone who you do not even know their name."

"That can be arranged," Aragorn said, grinning. Remembering the elven way of cordial greeting, he inclined his head as his hand touched his chest. "_Im Telcontar, adan ned Forod. Man eneth lín?_"

The Elf surprised Aragorn again by bowing low and taking off his helmet, greeting in a very Dwarven-like manner. "Ceranos Orcbane, at your service. I understand and speak the fair language of the Elves; nevertheless, I would rather we keep talking in the Common Tongue."

"As you wish… Ceranos," Aragorn said, letting the name sink in.

"I do, Strider," Ceranos said, smiling. "Now let us be on our way. There are still some leagues ahead of us till the city of Khazad-dûm."

With that, both travellers headed westward, and Aragorn couldn't help thinking that Ceranos could possibly turn out to be a most interesting companion.

* * *

Sure enough, Aragorn had been correct about Ceranos. More than that, the Elf had seemed to enjoy Aragorn's presence as well. For, during their march, both of them had discovered that the other was excellent company for conversation, exchanging serious talk and humorous remarks with the greatest of ease. It hadn't bee long before they came to like each other, a certain level of trust forming between them.

Finally, as the first stars had appeared in the sky, Ceranos had decided they should have set camp and rest near a small thicket of trees. Aragorn had searched for something edible, while the Elf had used one of the two hatchets that were attached on his belt to cut several dead branches for firewood. And, once Aragorn had cooked the two rabbits he had managed to catch, they had both settled by the warm flames of a blazing fire, enjoying their meal.

"We are not far from the Dimrill Gate, by my reckoning," Ceranos said, sounding pleased. "We should be able to see it tomorrow morning."

"That is good news," Aragorn replied, having another morsel from his share of the rabbits. "It will be interesting to see that part of the world."

"Note that we will have to walk through it swiftly, though; not only because we are both in a hurry to reach our destinations, but also because of the foul things that live now there." There was a small moment of silence, and then Ceranos spoke again, facing the Ranger with a small, troubled frown. "Strider, might I ask you something I have been wondering?"

"Of course," Aragorn said.

"Are you in some kind of trouble that you wish to speak with Master Elrond so urgently? Do not be surprised, my fellow traveller! Elrond Half-elven is well-known to give advice to those who seek it of him, no matter of race."

Aragorn chuckled softly. "No, be at ease. I have only received news that my brother has been injured and I want to see him."

"What was your brother doing in an Elven residence?" Ceranos asked again, more than just a little perplexed.

Aragorn pursed his lips. There weren't all that many people who knew of his history among the Elves. More importantly, he didn't wish for people to know either. Not because he felt awkward about it, far from that. It simply felt as something too personal to be shared with any person he came across. Still, the very appearance of Ceranos and a logical suspicion that had already formed in Aragorn's mind as the two of them talked made him realise that he could make an exception this time.

"The brother I speak of is Elladan, son of Elrond of Imladris."

"Oh. You have been adopted," Ceranos said.

"In a way," Aragorn said. "Master Elrond took me into his home, raising me as one of his own sons. I have been honoured to look upon him as my father and his children my kin for almost twenty years now, though I always knew I was different from them."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Ceranos's lips. "I think I know what you mean. Our lives are very similar, Strider; I have lost a family too once, only to find another one. I think it is fairly obvious what race my kindred was."

"Dwarves. It is a wonder to me how this came to be, though," Aragorn answered.

"I do not remember all that much, to be honest. Just a few bits and pieces and whatever my foster kin could tell me," he said with a small shrug, and he threw a branch into the fire, rejuvenating the flames. "Apparently, Wargs attacked my parents while they were travelling through the forest by the Blue Mountains, near the Dwarven city of Nogrod. Yes, your memory serves you right, there was another such fair city with the same name. The one I speak of, however, was only named thus in honour to the one that sank beneath the sea. Anyway, my father was found among the bodies of several Wargs, obviously slain in his attempt to defend my mother and me. My mother's body was found quite a distance away, lying by a riverbank and still soaking wet. She must have plunged to the river to escape the Wargs."

"What about you?" Aragorn asked.

"I was in her arms, alive and without any visible wounds, but in shock because of the severe cold of the water. Thrir, the Dwarf that led the scouting party, took pity on me and decided to carry me within the city to help me, in spite of several protests. I was an Elf and probably a dying one as well, after all. Why should Dwarves meddle in affairs that did not concern them in the first place? But Dwarves are very stubborn and Thrir was not an exception, I can tell you that – even more so since he was the patriarch of his clan and not to be denied. So, on the condition that I would be handed to my kind as soon as I got better, he took me to his home, where I was soon healed thanks to his care. By then, however, Thrir realised he had grown too attached to me and he could not hand me away, so he let me stay with his family against everyone's advice. And I could not wish for a better guardian than him, for he has raised me with all the love that a child could wish for."

"Was he the one who named you?"

"Yes. He said it was an Elven name for red-top, since my hair was stained with my mother's blood."

"Red-top? That does not sound quite right," Aragorn mused; the knowledge of the Elven tongue was a second nature to him after all these years spent under Elrond's protection.

"Who said Thrir knew excellent Elvish?" Ceranos replied with a soft chuckle.

Aragorn supposed that that made sense. "And how long have you been with the Dwarves?"

"All my life. Almost eight hundred years now."

"Oh… that means…"

"Yes, Thrir is dead. Being an Elf means outliving almost anybody, I am sorry to say. I am living with my foster brother and nephew now."

"But have you been accepted by the other Dwarves?" Aragorn asked.

Ceranos nodded with a small smile. "Most of them know now that I will do my best to offer my assistance wherever it is needed, whether it is in construction or mining or even in battle."

Aragorn smiled as well, and it was then that he caught of Ceranos's axe, its sharp edges glimmering.

"May I see your axe, Ceranos?"

Though Ceranos was quite surprised with that kind of request, he nevertheless indulged Aragorn and handed it over. Aragorn weighed the weapon in his hands, feeling its balance, and he had to say that it was excellently wrought. The blades were in perfect symmetry, and making a beautiful and gentle swishing as he swung it. The handle itself was clothed with straps of leather for better and steadier grip, and in the part close to the cutting edges he could also discern some strange runes, obviously some Dwarven writing. He didn't know what they meant, but he admired the graceful carving nonetheless.

"They say, 'made by my wielder to slay his foes and mine'," Ceranos said, seeing through Aragorn's thoughts.

"You made this?" Aragorn exclaimed in surprise.

"Why the surprise?" Ceranos laughed. "Living among Dwarves has made me like many things that Elves consider unlovely; the mining and forging of metal is one of them. This axe is my best work yet, if I may be so bold to brag."

"I see…" Aragorn looked at the weapon for several long moments, until he finally handed it back to Ceranos.

"Thanks," Ceranos said with a smile.

"You're welcome. Are you going to Nogrod now?"

"Indeed, I am," Ceranos answered. "I have been wandering for almost six months now in Middle-earth. I do not usually wander that far away from home for so long, but someone had to look for these." His hand reached for his pack, and he dug out several colourful stones. The gems shone as the light from the flames hit them.

"What are they?" Aragorn asked.

"Stones we use to ornament our weapons during rituals. Unfortunately, these cannot be found in the mines of the Blue Mountains, so I had to venture forth to look for them in other rocky areas. There are enough in the pack for the weapons of the chief clan in Nogrod to perform the ritual preceding the festivities in honour of Mahal."

"Mahal? You mean Aulë?"

"None other," Ceranos grinned. "That is why I am in a rush. It will be Durin's Day when the last moon of Autumn rises. I would rather arrive in Nogrod on time to avoid my dear brother Náin's nagging!"

Aragorn chuckled. "I, on the other hand, will hear Elladan's nagging when he sees me! He hates people getting concerned about him!"

Ceranos chuckled as well, just as Aragorn had intended, and then he rose, stretching himself.

"I think it is high time for some rest. We will have to wake up early tomorrow."

"Yes, I know." Aragorn stifled a yawn and he also got back on his feet to unroll his blanket. He lay down, letting out a sigh of content… then turned around in surprise he heard the sound of two flints being struck against the other.

Ai, Valar… that was... Before he could help it, Aragorn started laughing hard and, even though he was aware that Ceranos was looking at him in an odd manner, he simply couldn't stop. Finally, it must have dawned on the Elf what was wrong, for he huffed slightly in mock annoyance.

"Let me think… This is the first time you have seen an Elf smoke?"

"I am sorry," Aragorn managed to say amid his laughing fits. "This was really… unexpected."

"Then get used to it, Strider," said Ceranos, feigning indignation, "for I cannot sleep if I do not have at least a puff of Longbottom leaf. I tend to be grumpy in the morning otherwise."

That only made Aragorn laugh harder, and Ceranos simply shook his head in an amused manner before lying down.

"Just keep your laughter down so at least one of us can sleep," he declared.

"Of course, sorry," Aragorn chuckled.

After that, it wasn't long before sleep claimed them both, their mirthful smiles still tugging on their lips.

_TBC..._


	3. Entering Moria

The next day, the two travellers woke up feeling quite cheerful, even though they knew they were going into a most ominous place; they even shared many a jest as they packed their belongings and continued on their route to the West. Until, finally, they found themselves on a rocky terrain at the root of a great mountain.

Ceranos looked up at it, nodding to himself. "Well, we have arrived. This is where the realm of Khazad-dûm started."

Aragorn glanced at the great rocks, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. Something was missing from the picture and, no matter how hard he looked, he couldn't find it anywhere.

"But where is the gate?" Indeed, there was nothing in sight that even resembled a door.

"Dwarven gates are not made to be seen from the outside. Very practical in time of war, but an inconvenience in our case," Ceranos said, drawing out one of his hatchets. "Hold up your sword and start tapping. If you hear a sound slightly different, let me know." With that, he used the back of his hatchet to tap on the rocks.

Aragorn nodded his understanding and did what Ceranos suggested, his ears trying to pick up even the slightest sound that his sword made on the rocky wall. Just when he had become weary of a seemingly senseless task, Ceranos called him to his side.

"Hear that?" Ceranos tapped the piece of rock before him and, indeed, a rather echoing sound reached the Man's ears.

Aragorn nodded, smiling. They had found what they had been looking for.

Grinning as well, Ceranos dug out from his pack a pickaxe and used his skill as an experienced miner to strategically scrape several pieces of the rock. It wasn't long before the rest of the rock pieces fell off their place and the outline of a doorframe appeared before them. And, in less than five minutes, the rest of the door was revealed as well.

Aragorn couldn't help but look at the meticulously carved wood in awe. Though some of the images had faded, he could still see clearly an incredible story unfolding before him: the creation of the Dwarves by Aulë's hand; the Vala getting reprimanded by an obscure shape, which could only be Eru, the One; then the sleep of the Seven Fathers of the Dwarven kindred and their reawakening.

"Behold the Dimrill Gate!" Ceranos announced, his face lit up with pride.

Aragorn smiled. Ceranos certainly seemed happy to have this chance and see the historical city that had belonged to his foster kin; the gloved hands reached almost reverently for the handles, the green eyes still locked on the engravings of the door. To his wonder, however, Ceranos stopped midway and he faced Aragorn, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

"The doors have to be pushed open in order to enter. Before we do such a thing, though, I feel obliged to ask you one more time. Do you still wish to enter Moria, in spite of the dangers ahead?"

Aragorn nodded. "You said you know the way, is it not so?"

"I do. The architecture of the Dwarven cities, whether new or old, is a kind of knowledge that is passed down to all Nogrod Dwarves – and adopted Elves," Ceranos said.

"So if I keep up with you, you will be able to guide us safely out. I trust you, my fellow traveller."

Ceranos seemed satisfied with that answer. "Then let us not waste any more time. Are you ready?"

"Yes," Aragorn replied, and he placed his hands on one of the large handles. As soon as Ceranos placed his own on the other one, they both gave a mighty heave and pushed. It took several attempts, but the doors finally opened. The creaking sound that emanated made both companions cringe, but it didn't daunt them. They stepped inside, gaping at the gigantic structures that towered over them.

"It is far more beautiful than I have ever imagined," Ceranos breathed out.

Aragorn's mind, on the other hand, drifted to more urgent matters. "Do you think the Orcs heard the doors opening?"

"I doubt it. It looks like these halls have been well-looted, so they should be of little interest to them. My guess would be they prefer the lower levels, despite the shadow of fear that covers them."

Aragorn frowned. "Fear of what?"

Ceranos sighed. "Durin's Bane; a dark creature unleashed long ago by Dwarves seeking mithril. They dug too greedily and too deep, and thus awoke it from its millennia of lethargy. It was the ultimate downfall of Khazad-dûm. But fear not," Ceranos added quickly, noticing Aragorn's worried look, "we will steer clear from the halls where it dwells."

"That is comforting," Aragorn answered in relief. "But how are we to do that?"

"The main route leads down, continues on straight and then goes upwards again as we approach the other side. But," Ceranos grinned at that, "there are more paths than meets the eye."

"What do you mean?" Aragorn asked, cocking his head.

"When we pass the bridge, I will tell you." Ceranos searched his pack again and took out two strange large rods. "Take one."

Aragorn eyed the rod curiously. "What is this?" He felt the tip and wondered at the grinding surface his fingers encountered.

"A torch, of course!" Ceranos replied laughing, but the Man's confused look sobered him. "You have not seen a lightening rod before?"

"No. I have seen torches, but nothing like this," Aragorn admitted.

"It is simple to use. You merely strike the rough end on the ground, and friction does the rest."

"Friction?" To say Aragorn was confused would have been an understatement.

"I will show you when the time comes," Ceranos promised.

They started their long march into the dark places of Moria. Soon they were down the stairs and across the bridge, entering the main section of the once great Dwarven city. Even though they were several feet below earth, the sunlight managed to pass through cracks and crevices, illuminating the halls that the two travellers passed by, and Aragorn noticed the numerous corridors that spread out before him. If anything, he was glad Ceranos was with him; had he been alone in such a place he would have certainly lost his way, in spite of his skills as a Ranger.

Meanwhile, Ceranos was looking up at the reliefs on the walls, although Aragorn suspected it wasn't only just so he could find the signs he wished for in order to find his way.

"The craftsmanship is extraordinary," Ceranos said, answering Aragorn's look. "While I was growing up, I always listened to Thrir praising the skill of the Dwarven clans in Khazad-dûm. Now I see for myself that what he said was an understatement." He sighed. "It breaks the heart, thinking of the Orcs prowling through the halls, defiling them with their presence."

"Perhaps Dwarves will be able to reclaim the city some day," Aragorn said kindly.

"Perhaps."

It was then that Ceranos stopped in his tracks and started feeling the wall to his right. Aragorn watched him grin broadly and then press his hands against a relief and, an odd clicking sound later, a part of the wall moved aside very much like a door, revealing a narrow stony path. However, he couldn't see anything else further than that.

"We will need the lightening rods now. Follow my lead," Ceranos said, and he struck the ground with the rod he had been holding.

Aragorn did the same and, the moment that the rod touched the graveled path, sparks broke out and a strong bright flame burst on the rod's end. So startled he got that he would have certainly dropped it but for Ceranos grabbing his hand reassuringly.

"I have one more rod, but let us not waste this one yet, shall we?" he said good-naturedly. "Let us go, our ride is that way."

"Ride?" Aragorn echoed, not really understanding. Curiosity overwhelming him, he quickly walked at the Elf's side, his lightening rod burning brightly. But Aragorn was quite surprised to see that they had soon reached a dead end; there was nothing but stonewalls surrounding them.

"Looks like we took a wrong turn."

"No, we did not," Ceranos answered. "We will simply go down now."

Aragorn looked at his fellow traveller, trying to figure out if he were insane. There was nothing there, not even doors!

Ceranos chuckled softly. "Just hold still, I will activate our ride," he said in an enigmatic tone, and he put his hand through a hole on the wall, only to pull it out again as soon as another clicking sound was heard.

Nothing had prepared Aragorn for what was to come next. He felt the ground sinking underneath him and, for a moment, he thought that an earthquake was happening. But he only thing moving was the stone slab on which both he and his companion were standing, moving downwards as if by an unknown force.

"What in the world…?"

Ceranos drew him close in a reassuring manner. "Have no fear. This will take us directly to the lower levels."

"Are you certain this is safe?" Aragorn asked uneasily.

"Of course!" Ceranos laughed. "Dwarves have been using these for centuries. They come in very handy, considering the way the cities are built. It will save us some walking and time."

"Very well." Aragorn supposed he could trust Ceranos on this. If there was anyone who knew the Dwarves' secrets, it was certainly the Elf.

Finally, the stony slab reached its destination and Aragorn quickly stepped down, glad to feel stable ground once more. Ceranos stepped down also and pulled the lever nearby to activate the elevator again.

"There is no need to leave that to the sight of the Orcs," he said.

"I see." Aragorn scanned his surroundings. "Are we in their lairs now?"

"Yes," Ceranos answered. "This will be the hardest part of our journey, as this section of the city will be swarming with them."

"How long will it take us to get through?"

"It depends. It should be almost three days, provided we do not get lost – unlikely –or run into trouble."

"Then we had better be careful," Aragorn said, eyes darting to the dark places his lightening rod couldn't illuminate.

"Indeed," Ceranos agreed, "and we must make ourselves as inconspicuous as possible, so I suggest we do not talk unless we absolutely have to. The rods won't draw the Orcs' attention that much, but our voices can betray us."

Aragorn nodded his understanding, and they both started walking, the rods lighting the path without error.

_TBC..._


	4. The Troll

Neither knew for how many hours they had walked. They couldn't even understand if it was day or night, since no light illuminated the halls except the light of their torches. In fact, Ceranos only stopped when he realised he didn't hear the Man's footsteps anymore. And when he turned to see what was wrong, he saw Aragorn leaning against the wall, breathing heavily. Sighing, Ceranos walked up to Aragorn and clasped his shoulder gently.

"You should have told me something," he said softly. "I have more stamina than you and that is why I did not suggest a stop."

"I was raised among Elves; you would be surprised at what stamina I have acquired," Aragorn replied in a defensive manner.

"You grew up among Elves, you did not become one," Ceranos said with a small smile, jade eyes locking to the man's stormy grey ones. "Besides, this is as good a place to rest as any nearby."

Aragorn supposed that that stood to reason, so he sat on the floor with his back against a rock. As for Ceranos, he sat cross-legged across him, already digging out some _cram_ from his pack.

"I have enough for both of us," the elf said. "Here."

Aragorn, however, shook his head. "We will share my food. It will be my way of thanks for your guidance."

Ceranos refused politely at first, but, Aragorn proved to him that his obstinacy could easily be compared to a Dwarf's and so he shouldn't be denied this. Thus, Ceranos took some of the _lembas _Aragorn offered, nodding.

"You're welcome," Aragorn said, smiling. "Mind you, a few bites are enough, so do not eat too much or too quickly."

"All right…" Raising an eyebrow, Ceranos examined the leaf-wrapped waybread and then broke off a piece to nibble it carefully. It was a surprise for Aragorn to see an Elf seeming so curious about elven food, even more so when said Elf grinned, enjoying what he tasted. They had barely enough time to eat anything more, however, when Ceranos suddenly stood rigid, his head cocked as if trying to hear something.

"What?" Aragorn asked in a whisper, somehow suspecting that this couldn't be anything good.

"I sensed something," Ceranos said just as softly. "And now there's heavy footsteps coming to our direction."

Aragorn realised that, though Ceranos had grown up among Dwarves, his senses were still as sharp as an Elf's; so he didn't loose any time. He quickly went for his weapons and drew out his bow and arrow, just as Ceranos grabbed his axe and set himself in fighting position.

Not a moment too soon. It was then that the cave troll appeared, letting out a hideous threatening growl against the two travellers.

"Aim for the underparts!" Ceranos cried, already charging. He was engaged in combat in moments, gracefully avoiding gracefully the club it was wielding, while Aragorn started showering the troll with arrows, aiming for the chest and belly.

The troll didn't seem to have expected that sort of attack, nevertheless it swung its club in an attempt to hit at least one of them. It never found its target as Ceranos was too swift for him, and the wounds that both warriors inflicted on it got more and deeper. It wasn't long before it feel down dead, making a great thudding sound as it crashed on the ground.

"Are you all right?" Aragorn asked, rushing at Ceranos's side.

"Yes," answered the Elf, trying to catch his breath after such a fight. He didn't stop to rest, however. He simply went over to the troll to examine it carefully.

"That was not so difficult, thankfully," Aragorn noted, watching the scene thoughtfully.

"Actually," the Elf replied, "that was too easy."

"Too easy?" Aragorn asked, frowning.

"And here is why," Ceranos answered, opening the creature's mouth wider for Aragorn to see. "The teeth are too small and soft. This was not a full-grown troll yet." In the next moment, his eyes widened in realization, and he reached for his axe again.

"Get ready, quick!"

"Why? What is wrong?" Aragorn asked, not really understanding.

"Think about it, Strider! When a young one is around-"

Another, greater growl interrupted him and made both warriors face the door behind them.

"The mother is close," Aragorn breathed out.

Sure enough, a larger troll came out of the darkness of the hall, the smell of the blood attracting it to room Ceranos and Aragorn were. The moment the monster's eyes fell on the body of her offspring, she let out a great bellow of wrath that echoed through the room and then charged at the warriors, grabbing the club that lay on the floor, forgotten. Ceranos and Aragorn ducked out of harm's way and, in moments, the elf was gracefully back on his feet and setting himself in a defensive position, just as the man tried to scramble to his pack to get his sword; his arrows had already been spent in the previous fight.

He didn't manage it; the club landing in front of him cut him off. Aragorn looked up, and he saw the troll raising her weapon again, aiming it at him. All he could do was cover himself protectively with his hands, waiting for the blow to fall.

That is, until the troll's roar made him look up again. To his wonder and relief, she was writhing painfully, her hands trying to reach something on her back. But it was when she turned around that Aragorn saw what that something was: a hatchet buried deep on her shoulder blade.

"_Nakhu, tarâg!_" Ceranos cried challengingly, holding in one hand his axe and in the other the second hatchet. "Let us see how you fare against an _armed_ warrior!"

The troll regarded the elf with eyes filled with hatred, and then rushed forward for the kill. Ceranos threw his hatchet straight on the monster's chest, but that did little to slow the frenzied pace of the attack. Even so, Ceranos remained perfectly still, waiting for the troll to come closer. And Aragorn realized, to his horror, that that was the elf's plan; drawing the troll away and thus give him time to pick up his sword.

_Crazed fool! _Without losing any more time, Aragorn reached for his sword, hoping he wouldn't be too late, and then got back on his feet.

Ceranos still waited for her, and he only stepped aside just as she towered over him, her weapon ready to crush the insolent warrior. Landing lightly aside, he drove both his axe and the hatchet deep behind the creature's knee, severing her ligaments. She cried in agony, swinging her club instinctively so as to swat Ceranos away. Though Ceranos saw it coming and tried to jump backwards to avoid the hit, he was too late. The club hit him full force on his chest, and a sickening cracking of bones followed the impact, practically echoing throughout the hall. Ceranos was sent flying, screaming, before he landed in a heap on the floor, face down and motionless.

It was the perfect chance. Limping because of her wound, the troll approached the elf and lifted the club to finish off its prey. But it was also the mistake that cost her, for she had forgotten all about Aragorn. And the man threw his sword at her with all of his might, aiming for her exposed throat.

His aim didn't fail him. His sword flew swiftly and surely to its target, cutting the Troll's life vein. The creature swayed for a few moments, the club slipping through its fingers, and then she collapsed, quite dead before she even hit the ground. Even so, Aragorn didn't feel appeased until he was absolutely certain that she wouldn't suddenly get back and start fighting again. Then, breathing heavily, he looked in the direction of the broken form of Ceranos and, fearing the worst, rushed to his side. He gently rolled him over, relieved to see that the elf was alive and even conscious. Still, it was heart-wrenching to see him breathing in a shallow manner, trying to block the pain he was obviously feeling, and his face all white.

"Are you… all right?" Ceranos asked quietly, eyes locking on Aragorn.

"Yes, I am – thanks to you," Aragorn answered. "I wish I could say the same for you too, my friend."

Ceranos bit his lip, tensing. "I heard something breaking… and it hurts to breathe."

"I do not doubt it," Aragorn replied with a wry sigh. "Ceranos, I need to see how much damage you have taken at that hit. I cannot promise I will not hurt you more, but I have to examine you. Do you understand?"

Ceranos nodded his understanding. Slowly and with Aragorn's help, he unclasped his armour and lifted his shirt in order to reveal his chest. Aragorn winced at the horrible bruises that had already formed on the smooth skin, and he started feeling the ribs. He tried to be as gentle as possible, yet he still felt Ceranos flinch under his touch, a couple of whimper flowing of his lips.

"I'm sorry," Aragorn said apologetically, finally done with his probing. "But it is as I feared, you have broken three ribs. I do not think any of them pierced your lungs, though."

"That is something, at least," Ceranos whispered.

"Just hold still, I will find something to bind them in place," Aragorn promised. He hastily ran to his pack, found his blanket, and used his sword to cut long pieces of cloth so he could wrap them around the Elf's chest. It took some time but, finally, Ceranos's wounds were bound securely, and his shirt and armour were back in place over the bandages.

Ceranos managed to smile weakly at the man. "Thank you. It feels much better now."

"Thank Elrond; he taught me how to do this," Aragorn said, returning the smile in kind.

"If I ever see him, I will make sure of that." In the next moment, he propped himself on his elbow, gritting his teeth in an attempt to get up.

"No, you should stay down," Aragorn said, gently pushing him back down once more.

Ceranos, however, shook his head. "That commotion was enough to bring out the dead, let alone the Orcs. We have to continue on till we put some distance between this place and us," he said. "Give me my axe, it will help me walk."

Aragorn had to admit to himself that Ceranos was right. So, he complied with a sigh and picked up his pack, as well as Ceranos's, before helping the injured elf back on his feet. Thus they started their march once more, the elf on the lead, in spite of his injuries, and Aragorn close behind, carrying the packs and the weapons. They had to make several short stops on their way to rest, since Ceranos was still in great deal of pain. In the end, though, they reached a secluded room where both of them could spend a few quiet hours of sleep. Aragorn closed the doors and used one Ceranos's hatchets to keep them shut, so as not to worry about patrolling Orcs, and then helped Ceranos's lie down, using a pack as a makeshift headrest.

It was clear, though, that something troubled Ceranos; he was looking up at Aragorn in quite the thoughtful manner. But he didn't decide to speak his mind until Aragorn lay down as well.

"Strider?"

"Hmm?" Aragorn replied, his eyes already closed..

"Do you truly consider me a friend?"

The Man opened an eyelid, looking at the elf curiously. "Why should I not?"

"You have only known me for two days."

"And what of it?"

Ceranos pursed his lips for a moment. "With the exception of Thrir's family, nobody else I have met would be that open to accept me so quickly. My foster father could be overprotective at times because of what I am… or rather, what I am not." He sighed. "Let us face it, Strider, I may not be a Dwarf, but I am definitely not an Elf either. And that was why he was always afraid no other creature besides the Nogrod Dwarves would accept me with an open mind; a fear that… I shared with him."

Aragorn thought about what Ceranos said for a few moments, and then smiled softly, clasping one of the elf's hands in his.

"Ceranos, I understand how difficult it must have been for you to grow up among people that were so different from you in so many ways that, in the end, you felt that there was something wrong with you. I grew up among Elves and I came to share their ideas, their way of thinking and language."

Ceranos looked up at him. But Aragorn was far from finished.

"But, as you said, I grew up among Elves, I did not become one. And I certainly cannot be considered part of the Men's race either. We _are_ something different, but it does not have to be bad. In the end, it is the heart that counts. I have known you for only two days, true. But, even in so small a time, I managed to learn enough about you to understand that you are a brave and honourable warrior whose skill in fighting and forging can only be compared to his kind soul. You got concerned about my safety more than once. You were ready to share your food with me. You even stood up against the Troll to assist me. This matters to me the most and this is why I consider you a friend." Aragorn smiled. "As for the fact that you have been adopted, I can only say that Thrir would be very proud to have raised a son like you."

Ceranos let these words sink in, clearly touched.

"Thank you," he said. "You have truly grown wise among the Elves and this wisdom can only be compared to your skill as a warrior and a healer, a thing so rare nowadays. I am glad to have met you and I am honoured to be your friend."

"As I am honoured to be yours," Aragorn said, smiling. "Now try to sleep. Your elven power of healing will help you recover; but you need to regain some of your strength as well."

"I do not think I will be able to, but I will try." Ceranos replied, wincing as he tried to move to a more comfortable position. "I hate this; I cannot even smoke," he added in a grumbling tone, and then he closed his eyes, drawing his blanket over him.

Aragorn actually bit back a chuckle and finally settled down to sleep too. He closed his eyes, but then he snapped them open again, for he realising there was something wrong with the sight of the resting Ceranos.

His companion, an _elf_, had his eyes closed. Aragorn watched his friend apprehensively, trying to figure out what to make of that. Ceranos's injuries couldn't have worsened; he had made sure of that. So what was amiss?

Aragorn opened his mouth, ready to wake up Ceranos so he could examine him again, but, in that moment, the elf's eyelids half-opened to reveal unfocused jade eyes underneath them.

It finally dawned on Aragorn. He remembered how, in his childhood, he always tried to imitate his foster kin's way of sleeping, keeping his eyes open. That hardly worked, however, since his eyes closed again as soon as he dozed off. And now it seemed Ceranos was doing a similar thing too, getting used to sleeping among Dwarves, except his Elven heritage proved stronger and his eyes opened when sleep claimed the Firstborn.

Smiling kindly, Aragorn turned on his side and closed his eyes too. Ceranos definitely never ceased to surprise him.

_TBC..._


	5. Orcs

Aragorn finally stirred awake, feeling refreshed once more. As he stretched and then sat up, rubbing the slumber off his eyes, he directed his gaze next to him and saw that Ceranos was still sound asleep. Even so, the jade-coloured eyes reflected a pained expression, a sign that the elf was still hurting. Aragorn should have expected it, really; three broken ribs wasn't a small matter, even to an Elf. So, he decided that it was probably best not to wake Ceranos up just yet. He simply dug out some _lembas_ out of his bag, and started eating.

Aragorn's patience was soon rewarded as Ceranos's eyes finally blinked back into focus. The elf shifted, groaning, and the man had to kneel at his side in order to help him sit up.

"How are you feeling?"

"I am healing," Ceranos replied. "Not quickly enough to my liking, but I am healing nonetheless. The pain has become bearable."

Aragorn smiled in relief. "Good." He broke off a piece of _lembas _and offered it to Ceranos. "Here, you need to eat."

"You don't have to mother me, Strider," Ceranos said, shaking his head.

"I am not mothering you," Aragorn said. "I am only doing what a healer is supposed to do: making sure his patient gets his strength back."

"And I have to do what a guide is supposed to do: make sure he gets both himself and his companion to safety." Ceranos attempted to push himself back to his feet, but it turned out to be a mistake. Pain coursed through him, and he had to bite his lip in order not to cry out.

Aragorn instantly grabbed his arm gently and made him sit down again.

"You will not guide like that, you are still in pretty bad shape. Give your body a chance to heal some time more; it will not make a difference if we set off an hour later," he reasoned, holding up the piece of _lembas_ once more. "Now, please, fill your stomach with something. You need the nourishment if we are to go on."

Ceranos must have admitted to himself that Aragorn was right, for he accepted the waybread. And, just as Aragorn had hoped, Ceranos felt a lot stronger after having a proper meal and, though his movements were still stiffened because of his injury, there was new rigour in him as he stood up, gathering his bag.

"Shall we start?" he asked.

"Lead the way," Aragorn said.

Nodding his understanding, Ceranos, walked up to the door to remove his hatchet from the door handles, and then both of them took up the path through the mines of Moria once again. Their pace had significantly slowed down, however, since Ceranos had to stop every once and a while to catch his breath and rest his abused body. It was also a kind of setback that the elf was most probably aware of, for he'd barely allow himself more than a few minutes of a pause before getting back on his feet, quickening his step.

In the end, Aragorn decided it enough was enough. Just when Ceranos was about to get up again after his preposterously brief rest, he placed a hand on the elf, stopping him.

"You said that it would take us about three days to pass the city of Khazad-dûm," he said. "Do not exert yourself in your attempt to get us out sooner."

"There is no need to fall behind plan either," Ceranos said softly. "We are still in Orc territory, Strider. If any of their patrols find the dead Trolls, they will know something is amiss. We have to get us out while we are unnoticed."

Aragorn sighed wryly, realizing how the things became a lot more complicated to his liking. Even so, his healer's side couldn't help but protest as he heard Ceranos's laboured breathing. At this rate, the elf was running the risk of causing more damage to himself and that was a fact.

"Is it far from the upper levels?" Aragorn asked, contemplating their options.

"Ten hours march."

"Then it's settled; it's too much of a distance to travel in one effort alone. We will rest here till you get enough rest."

"Strider, listen to me…"

"No, my friend, _you_ listen to me. I know you feel responsible for both of us. But right now, whether you like it or not, I am responsible for your health. We _will _rest."

"But…"

"My decision is final. In fact," with that, Aragorn sat cross-legged on the ground, his arms folded on his chest, "I am not moving another inch till I deem you have rested enough. Any objections to that?"

Ceranos blinked, jade-coloured staring at Aragorn incredulously for several moments. And then, all of a sudden it seemed, he actually started laughing hard. He had to double over in the next moment as his chest wasn't ready for that kind of abuse just yet, but his laughter didn't cease for a second. Aragorn sprang up at once, offering his support.

"Are you all right?"

"Made you move," Ceranos declared, still laughing. "Ai! Hurts!"

"Then stop!"

"I can't!"

Aragorn stared at Ceranos dubiously as the elf still laughed as if there was no tomorrow. In the end, however, he just held him close, a smile tugging on his own lips before he could help it.

Finally, Ceranos's mirth subsided and he brushed his teary eyes with the back of his gloved hand. Once he had regained his composure, he got back on his feet carefully, leaning on his axe for support.

"Shall I ask how you are feeling?" Aragorn asked, amused.

"Aching more than ever," Ceranos admitted. "We ought to get going though. We have tarried long enough."

Aragorn couldn't agree more with that. Just when they were about to to start walking again, they heard voices quite some distance away from them.

"Oh, no." It didn't take a great mind to guess what was coming in their direction.

"We need to hide!" Ceranos whispered, his gaze darting in every direction in an attempt to find a place to take cover. "In here!" He prodded Aragorn towards a room on their left. The door was already ajar but, when he tried to push it further open, it wouldn't budge any more than a few inches; years of humidity and lack of use had rusted the door in place. Aragorn was sure that the elf would give up, but Ceranos simply removed took his pack and lightening rod and threw them through the opening.

"What are you doing?" Aragorn asked.

Ceranos didn't answer, he simply beckoned the man to hand him his own pack and light. Once their weapons were tossed inside the room as well, he managed to slide through the opening and into the room. Without losing any time, he beckoned Aragorn to follow him. But Aragorn heard the Orkish footsteps coming closer and he realised that, if he had to hide, he would have to do it now, without losing any time trying to squeeze through such a tight opening.

In the next moment, he moved away from the door.

"Strider, no!" Ceranos hissed. "Have you gone mad?"

Aragorn didn't answer; he simply hid in the first place he could think of. And not a moment too soon, for it was then that the Orcs appeared in the hall.

* * *

"Halt!" the big brute of an Orc that was leading the patrol commanded. "Did you hear that, lads?"

A guttural growl was all he needed as an answer.

"The intruder is close! Start searching."

Letting out a shrill cry of excitement as one, all the Orcs started looking throughout the hall. Yet none of them noticed a pair of grey eyes watching them from a couple of beams above.

* * *

Aragorn's heart thundered against his chest so hard that the man felt it would burst out at any minute. He closed his eyes, forcing his every muscle to freeze and hoping against hope that no one would look up. He was grateful the beams that were used to support the walls provided a ledge solid enough where he could stay protected in the shadows. Moreover, Aragorn was grateful for his life among the elves, for the Firstborn were by nature agile climbers, able to reach at the top of every tree and mountain no matter how steep the climb was; so the man had learned to keep up with them. Now he was able to hide without the fear of bringing the beams crashing down.

Even so, Aragorn couldn't feel safe yet; he could still see the Orcs searching meticulously, growling and snarling. Ceranos had been right after all. The foul beasts had most probably discovered the dead trolls and now they were looking for the person - or persons - who had dared enter into the Mines. And, by the look of things, they had no intention of giving up their search. In fact, several of them had approached dangerously close to the room Ceranos was hiding. Aragorn watched them with bated breath, hoping that they would see the door wouldn't budge and they would leave it be.

It wasn't so. Three Orcs had already reached out to push the door open, and Aragorn knew that the door wouldn't stay in place under that kind of force. His hands clenched into fists, his feelings of frustration almost choking him. Ceranos would be discovered and he could do nothing to prevent it.

Or could he? The groan of the door snapped him into action and, without a second thought, he jumped down, wielding his sword.

Though startled at first, the Orcs quickly recovered and lunged at the human that dared challenge them, and soon Aragorn was overcome; as bravely as he fought, he couldn't possibly defeat the whole horde. One of them even unsheathed his knife and got ready to slit the Man's throat, but the leader of the Orcs intervened. Growling threateningly, he placed himself against his enraged soldiers and the captive, and then silenced everyone with a warning look before addressing Aragorn.

"You killed some of my finest men. Men that took me years to train," he hissed. "Under other circumstances I would have acknowledged your bravery, _tark_. But considering how many of us are here, I think you're nothing but a fool. Did you actually believe you could kill all of us?"

Aragorn didn't bother to answer; he just looked down to the floor. If the large Orc intended on killing him, the man would it was over swiftly.

"Not talking, eh? Fear cut your tongue?" the Orc asked mockingly.

Still Aragorn didn't answer. Unfortunately, the large Orc didn't seem to be daunted in the least. He simply circled the man, eyeing him closely.

"I also have to admit that this was very strange of you. Attacking, when you had already found a perfectly good hiding place? Just what were you thinking, _tark?_"

Aragorn looked at the half-open door before he could help it. It was a brief motion, but the Orc had caught sight of it, his piercing beady eyes shining with realization. Drawing his knife, he held it against Aragorn's neck.

"Call your companion."

"What?" Aragorn said, feigning surprise. His heart drummed loudly in his ears, though.

"You might be a fool, but don't think I'm one as well!" the Orc snarled. "Call to your companion! Now!"

"There is no one else here…" Aragorn started, but a fist landed on his jaw in the next moment.

"You're not making this any easier for yourself, are you?" the large Orc said, baring his fangs in anger. "You two!" he commanded, turning to the two Orcs closest to him. "Go inside and see what the _tark_ was trying to defend."

"No!" Aragorn exclaimed. He tried to pull himself away from his captors, but the Orcs gripped his shoulders tightly, holding him in place.

"So there _is_ somebody in there! Thank you for confirming it for me," the great Orc said, and he faced his subordinates. "Go!"

Aragorn watched the two Orcs complying to the order, horror coursing through his veins. Ceranos wouldn't be able to fight against the Orcs, not in his current state. Worse, there was great loathing between Elves and Orcs. If Ceranos was caught, the he would be tortured him beyond measure, denied the merciful killing that the Orcs would probably give the human. Aragorn didn't wish that kind of fate for his friend, but there was nothing he could do anymore.

The two Orcs pushed open the door, and Aragorn caught himself wincing and looking away. When he heard a cry of surprise, though, he looked up at once, looking at the room that was revealed before him and the rest of the Orcs.

It was empty - empty from living things that is. The place was filled with scorched bodies of unfortunate Dwarves who hadn't managed to escape the terror of Durin's Bane. Some of them were still sprawled on the ground where they had fallen, their mutilated faces contorted with anguish and pain. Others still clung to their weapons as they had fought a last desperate battle against the devilry that had been set loose upon them. And a few others could be seen dead as they crawled to the well in the centre of the room, obviously attempting to escape through there. However, there was no sign of Ceranos, and Aragorn wasn't sure what to make of things.

The great Orcs snarled in dismay. "Well, don't just stand there looking at me!" he barked at his subordinates, who were just as much at a loss as to what to think. "Start searching!"

The two Orcs hesitated at first, but, as their leader gave them another warning look, they started looking around, starting from the well and then going through every the dark corners of the room. Neither of them touched the dead Dwarves though, and no one that the great Orc sent in was willing to do that either.

"You know what did this to them," one of the Orcs finally declared when their leader threatened to have their heads for disobeying direct orders. "I'm not touching any of his kills! None of us is and shout all you like!"

"I, for one, have heard strange sounds whenever everything is quiet!" another one said, his nervousness audible. "Mournful cries echoing throughout these halls. I bet it's their ghosts haunting this room!"

All the Orcs backed away from the bodies at that, infuriating the leader of the Orcs to no end. And as the monster started screaming at them, cursing their foolishness and superstition, Aragorn tried to figure out what might have happened to Ceranos. Apparently, the elf had heard the commotion outside and so had taken cover. But where? Aragorn's eyes scanned the room as he attempted to identify anything that belonged to his friend, yet he couldn't see anything. Ceranos seemed to have disappeared without a trace.

"And I'm telling you that he didn't just fly out of here!" the leader shouted in that moment, cutting into Aragorn's train of thought. He looked at the empty room, pursed his lips in thought and then turned on his heel. "Burn the place down!"

Aragorn breathed in sharply. Burn it? Ceranos would never escape that!

"_Ceranos! Lachathar i chammath!_" he shouted on the top of his lungs, hoping the Elf would hear his warning. Yet as the words flowed out of his lips, the Orcs were onto him once more, beating him to silence until Aragorn was flat on the ground, his mouth and nose bleeding. Three of the foul beasts pinned him down, and the rest lit up more torches to throw inside, setting the room to flames. In a few moments, the only thing Aragorn was able to see was the fire, eating voraciously anything its red tongues could reach. Unable to stand it, he averted his eyes from the sight. But then powerful claws forced him to face the grinning leader of the Orcs.

"Don't worry, _tark_! I'll give more than enough reasons for you to weep!" he said malevolently, and then he turned to his subordinates again. "Some of you stay here and wait till the fire dies down to make sure the Elf is dead!"

"The Elf?" one of the Orcs exclaimed, startled.

"Yes, the Elf! Didn't you hear the language our prize spoke? Now do as I say and keep your eyes peeled! You know where to find us once your work here is done!"

With that said, the leader signalled the command for the horde to move back to their lair, dragging Aragorn along with them. None of them beasts troubled themselves about the worried look the man cast over his shoulder; they simply kept going, and all Aragorn could do was mourn in silence.

TBC...


	6. Fire

Aragorn winced as his body impacted painfully with the ground, but his captors hardly paid attention to that. They simply walked away, intending to prepare some sort of meal for their empty stomachs. Probably for the best; it gave Aragorn the chance to look at his surroundings, hoping to determine where he was. He was no expert in Dwarven establishments, but it looked like he had been brought to the mines. The entire territory was filled with holes, ladders and rails, remnants of the previous occupants' existence. Centuries of dust covered everything, and yet it seemed that nothing had been removed or misplaced. Aragorn could see that some of the wagons were even half-filled with mithril, the precious metal that was so highly prized among Dwarfs – and all the free people – of Middle-earth. Whatever it was that Aulë's creations had awoken, it had struck them with such swiftness and force that they had fled without thinking of carrying anything with them. Aragorn shuddered as he recalled the bodies in that fateful room. Worse, there was a possibility Ceranos was dead too.

He directed his gaze to the Orcs, who were some distance away from him, talking and gesturing wildly. Aragorn couldn't hear what they said, but it didn't take a great mind to guess that they were talking about what had come to pass. And, judging by the sidelong glances they cast in _his_ direction, they weren't discussing anything pleasant.

The sound of footsteps made him turn, and he saw the crouching shadow of two Orcs approaching under the feeble light the torches cast. Aragorn's heart beat fast, fearing of what he would see. Even so, he didn't look away; he had to know if the Orcs carried Ceranos's body.

They Orcs, however, were empty-handed… and quite nervous for that matter.

"Where's the body?" the leader demanded.

The Orcs hesitated.

"Out with it!"

The two Orcs flinched. "We… didn't find it," they mumbled.

"And you came back here because…?" the leader asked, glaring at them.

"No creature would survive that fire!" one of them retorted.

"That's some fine reasoning! Perhaps I should throw you in there next time, to see how true it is!"

"If he had survived, he would have shown up by now!" the other Orc reasoned. "He would have tried to save his companion, surely?"

"So where's Aruk?"

The two Orcs looked behind.

"He was with us when we searched the room."

"I didn't ask where he was!" the leader growled. "How couldn't you see that he's missing?"

"He said he wanted to look at the room one last time and then he would catch up with us…" the first Orc started, only for his voice to trail off as he realised what might have happened.

The leader eyed both Orcs angrily. "Nice going! Fortunately all might not be lost yet. Get to your posts, fools! I'll have to deal with something."

As the two Orcs hurried away, the leader walked up to Aragorn and, after tearing open the Ranger's shirt, he unfastened from his belt a great whip, its three tails ending in small razors.

"Tell me! How many of you were there?" he demanded.

"Just the two of us…" Aragorn murmured.

The great Orc cracked his whip against the defenceless Man. "Wrong answer, _tark_!"

Aragorn tried to protect himself with his arms, but it was no use. The razors ripped at his flesh, leaving such a stinging pain that had him cry out.

"How many of you were there?" the Orc asked again, more slowly, his voice resembling a growl.

"I've already told you!" Aragorn answered.

There was another crack, and blood flowed down his back, making him scream.

"Don't try my patience, _tark!_"

"I'm not trying anything!"

"Then you've sealed your fate," the Orc answered, and he started cracking his whip again and again, until Aragorn's body was stained red with all the cuts that streamed out blood. All Aragorn could do was scream, his voice cracking and his strength flowing away from him.

_No more…_ he thought, crying out as another crack landed on his back. _Valar, take me now, please…_

It was then that a great rumbling sound echoed throughout the place, having all the Orcs freeze in place. They exchanged a look of confusion and horror, and then flinched as they heard the same sound again.

"It's _him!_ That's his roar!" one of them cried.

The leader of the Orcs looked, Aragorn forgotten. "It can't be! He's too far away from his own haunts!"

Just as they still tried to comprehend what was happening, a great barrage of fire-spheres started falling around them, bursting into great explosions as they touched the ground. Several Orcs fell, slain by the fiery shards, and the rest of them shrieked in panic, heading for the doors in a wish to get out. Before they could reach them, however, the metal doors snapped closed as if on their own accord. The Orcs stopped on their tracks in numbing confusion, helpless, and then a great battle cry filled the room.

"_Khazâd ai-mênu!_"

The Orcs turned to the direction of the cry, but it was too late. A tall shadowed form charged against them, its seemingly claws of iron hewing and slashing with an unprecedented frenzy. The Orcs unsheathed their swords to fight, but it was impossible to withstand such a fury that seemed to be everywhere around them. It wasn't long before all the Orcs finally ended up dead, including their leader; he had been hewn in two before he even had a chance to take up his scimitar.

Aragorn forced himself up, gritting his teeth as he tried to fight the fainting spell that was trying to grab hold of him. Sure enough, Ceranos stepped out of the shadows, his hatchets and fair face dripping with Orc blood. But that was the last thing that he saw, for then darkness engulfed him.

* * *

Aragorn stirred as he regained consciousness once more. At first he smelled the odour of dried blood, aware that it was his own; but then pain registered in mind and he couldn't help but moan. Strangely, comfortable warmth surrounded him rather than the cold ground that he had been expecting. He certainly didn't expect a gentle voice address him in the elven tongue.

"_Sedho, Aragorn._"

Aragorn frowned. Even though the voice had a soothing effect on him, he didn't recognize the speaker, and the language didn't have the rolling chime he was familiar with. So who was talking to him? As curiosity overwhelmed him, Aragorn willed his eyes open, blinking a few times to focus on the person who had his arms wrapped around him and offered his body warmth. In the end, he finally discerned long, raven-black strands, crowning an obscure face, and Aragorn couldn't help but wonder if that elf was in fact...

"_El… Elrond?_"

"No, it is me… Ceranos," the Elf said, instantly switching to the Common Tongue. "Try not to move, if you can help it."

Aragorn blinked once more, hoping his sight would clear this time. And there, indeed, was the face of his fellow traveller, smiling at him, his helmet removed and his fine, jet-black hair loose and covering his shoulders like a cloak. In that moment, his friend truly looked like an elf in spite of what race had raised him.

"Welcome back, Strider." Ceranos was clearly relieved and happy to see Aragorn awake. In truth, Aragorn felt just as relieved, and he couldn't help but reach for the Elf's face in a wish to make sure that he wasn't imagining things.

"I thought they had killed you."

"Me? No," Ceranos grinned. "It would take more than mere fire to kill me."

"Then you heard me."

Ceranos nodded. "And I thank you for warning me. What you did in the first place, however, was foolish. I know you meant well, Strider, but what good would you do to me if I lived, knowing someone else died in my place?"

"I wasn't willing to let you accept that kind of fate for yourself," Aragorn said.

"I never said that!" Ceranos exclaimed.

"You did not deny it either."

Ceranos closed his mouth, admitting that Aragorn was right. Still, there were also more than just a few matters that the man needed to understand. A part of him still didn't believe that he had been rescued and that Ceranos was now there, with him.

"What happened?" he asked. "Were you not in the room when the Orcs came in?"

"I was," Ceranos said.

"I looked everywhere for you; I did not see you!"

"It's a long story, and I doubt you want to hear all of it," the elf said with a shake of his head.

"I do. Please, tell me."

Ceranos pursed his lips momentarily, and then, finally making up his mind, he started telling everything from the beginning.

"When I saw you retreating, I meant to get out and drag you into the room with me. Just then, however, I saw the Orcs coming, so I had no other choice but stay put and see what the fiends would do next. I heard them approaching the door and then their cries when you attacked them. When I realised they intended to come in, I threw both lightening rods into the well and hid myself under the bodies of some Dwarves, face down."

"What?" Aragorn exclaimed. "If the Orcs had put their mind to search the bodies they would have certainly found you!"

"They never did, because none of them considered the possibility I _could_ be there. You never thought of that hiding place either," Ceranos reasoned with a small shrug. "Anyway, good idea or no, I stayed there until they set the room in flames."

"That long? But how did you…?" Aragorn started.

"I am getting to that part," Ceranos replied. "I am sure you noticed the large well in the centre of the room. If you threw a torch there, you would be able to see some holes in the wall; holes that a keen eye would notice that they form a ladder which goes all the way down to the bottom of the well. I went down there before the fire burnt the entire place and, as I was still climbing down, I found what I was looking for."

"What was it?"

"A small corridor that I knew would take me back to the halls. Dwarves need easy access to the inside of the wells they build so they can clean them of any mould and also to examine if the water is clear. This was one such corridor, and I ended up just outside the room the Orcs had just burnt, and I found the chance to hide under the cover of the shadows. And, to my good fortune, there were only three Orcs to deal with and, even better, two of them departed soon afterwards. The third one went inside the destroyed room, obviously to look around one last time, and that was when I found my chance to strike. I grabbed him from behind and pinned him against the blackened wall, holding a hatchet against his throat. After questioning him, I learned where they took you."

"He actually told you?" Aragorn asked.

"People can become very talkative just to stay alive a few minutes longer," Ceranos said grimly, and Aragorn couldn't help but shudder at that.

"What happened next?" he asked softly.

Ceranos pursed his lips in thought. "Well, I have already told you there are more paths than meets the eye. I used several corridors and secret doors as shortcuts to reach the Orc's lair and then I entered without being noticed. You were not able to see me, but I was up at the higher levels of the tunnels, watching the Orcs and you from there and preparing my attack." His gaze fell on the ugly welts that marred the man's skin and he sighed. "I still wish I had been able to prevent this."

"What about the rumbling sound? Were you the one to cause it?" Aragorn asked.

"Yes. I figured that, since they were so afraid of Durin's Bane, it would be a good touch. The grinding of an axe against a rock can sound terrifying as it echoes through the tunnels."

"And the fire-balls?"

Ceranos was puzzled unsure, unsure what Aragorn meant, but then his face lit up with realisation. "Oh, you mean the detonation orbs – that is how we call them," he said. "It is the mines here. There is plenty of sulphur and other flammable ingredients to make a powerful mixture that the Dwarves use to break any rocky walls that pickaxes cannot. After making a considerable number of them I lighted them and catapulted them against the Orcs. When the Orcs tried to escape, I pulled an emergency lever to close the doors as I slid down a ladder into the lair. There is no need to tell you what ensued. Of course, my ribs protested at such a fierce fight and I could hardly walk after I had dealt with the fiends, but at least the plan worked. And here we are now."

Aragorn nodded his understanding. "Thank you. For taking care of me, I mean."

"I hardly think my own healing abilities are good enough to heal anybody. You did it on your own," said Ceranos with a weak smile.

Aragorn returned the gentle smile, and then looked around for a minute. "We should move on."

"We should," Ceranos agreed. He dug out of Aragorn's pack another shirt for the man to wear and then he helped him stand up. When Aragorn tried to stand on his own, though, he felt light-headed and he almost fainted right there and then.

"Lean on me," Ceranos said, already guiding Aragorn's arm across his broad shoulders.

"Your ribs…" Aragorn reminded him.

"Your back and arms are in no condition to carry anything. Besides, my ribs don't feel so bad anymore; they have almost healed."

Aragorn was almost certain that Ceranos was playing down matters for his sake, but he didn't seem have the energy to argue. As soon as Ceranos re-opened the doors, he simply let the elf guide through the darkness of Moria once more, hoping that they would get out soon.

Even as they walked on, however, Aragorn felt his strength draining, exhaustion swiftly catching up with him and making his legs feel like lead. A part of him truly wished that Ceranos found another moving slab like the one they had encountered at the beginning of their journey through the tunnels, for it was almost like he couldn't take another step. It was through sheer will alone that he didn't collapse yet, and even that was swiftly failing him.

Sure enough, Aragorn stumbled in that very moment, practically dragging both himself and Ceranos down.

"Clumsy…" he murmured, smiling weakly.

Ceranos, however, wasn't easily fooled. "Just hold on a little while longer, we will soon be at the upper halls," he said. "We will not even have to walk all the way there, I promise you."

Aragorn managed a weak nod, still leaning against Ceranos. In his state, however, things barely registered anymore, and he never realized when they finally reached another stony slab, which lifted them both to the upper levels of Moria. He barely even felt Ceranos practically dragging him a little further away before lowering him on the ground, all the while murmuring encouraging words of 'We're almost there' and 'Hold on'. As soon as Aragorn was safely tucked under a thick winter cloak which offered him sweet comforting warmth, he simply went out like a candle, letting healing sleep claim him.

TBC...


	7. Fighting For A Way Out

When Aragorn opened his eyes, he was glad to sense that the pain had subsided significantly. All that he could feel now was a stinging sensation and that, fortunately, didn't slow any of his movements. Finally able to prop himself on his elbow, he did just that and spotted Ceranos; he was sitting cross-legged a couple of feet away, the axe ready at hand as he kept vigil.

"You were awake all night?" Aragorn asked, cocking his head.

"After everything that happened, one cannot be too careful," Ceranos answered. "How is your back?"

"Better. Your ribs?"

"Healed at last. I can breathe easily now."

"Apparently," Aragorn noted in a teasing tone, for he noticed the lit pipe lingering in the Elf's mouth.

"It hastens my healing," Ceranos said in his defence.

"Of course," Aragorn said with a chuckle, and he attempted to get back on his feet. To his relief, his body was a lot stronger now; he was even able to walk about on his own. So, he handed the winter cloak back to its rightful owner, nodding in gratitude. "How long will it take us to reach the upper halls?"

"Not much. We will certainly be able to reach it today," Ceranos answered, folding his cloak before placing it back in his pack.

"It is day then?" Aragorn asked, surprised.

Ceranos nodded. "Just look at the sunlight shining through that window up there."

Aragorn looked up in the direction Ceranos pointed, seeing the bright beams for himself. "That is actually the best news I have heard in a long while. I have grown weary of this place."

"I never thought I would say this, but so have I," Ceranos admitted. "So let's try and find that exit, shall we?"

Aragorn nodded and, once the two companions picked up their gear, they set off once more towards the Western Gate of Moria. As they walked on, though, Aragorn couldn't help but keep wincing, for the cuts got aggravated and worsened the pain. Still, he didn't intend to show that to Ceranos. They were too close to the exit and he didn't want them to stop on his account. So he bore the pain in silence, following the elf through the tunnels and abandoned levels of mines.

If Ceranos noticed something was amiss with Aragorn, he didn't show it. Besides, it was fairly obvious that there was something else on the elf's mind now. The ranger noticed how the elf's darted in every direction, an obvious sign that he was clearly sensing something. And it didn't take a great mind to guess what that something was, for Aragorn could also feel the unfriendly eyes on his back, making him shudder.

"I am surprised they did not attack yet," he murmured in a hardly audible tone.

"They must have found out by now that we've killed two trolls and a whole patrol, so they're simply bidding their time," Ceranos answered in the same low voice.

"Till we are tired and vulnerable," Aragorn said, understanding. "Let's hope we will have reached the gate by then."

"Provided they let us live to tell the tale," Ceranos pointed out wryly. "But that is not what worries me most. Your back is still in bad shape. You know this."

"I will manage. Besides, you cannot fight them all on your own."

Ceranos smiled weakly and the two companions continued on in the darkness. The sunbeams that passed through the cracks shed as much light as possible, bathing the Dwarven structures and showing Ceranos the way; until, finally, the elf allowed himself the luxury of a smile.

"We are close," he said softly. "Unfortunately…" he nodded to his left at that, "they know it too. They've moved closer."

"You can hear them?"

Ceranos nodded and then, to Aragorn's surprise, he reached for the ranger's sword, tapping the pommel gently. "Get ready," he mouthed.

Understanding, Aragorn gripped the pommel tightly, bracing. The seconds seemed to pass excruciatingly slowly as they waited, looking at the shadows that closed around them threateningly. Silence reigned in the halls, and the only thing Aragorn could hear was his breathing and his heart beating forcefully against his chest. He felt his mouth dry and he unconsciously wetted his lips with his tongue, the wait weighing heavily on him. His fingers fidgeted involuntarily, his body ready to act quickly in the prospect of battle. He faced Ceranos, and he saw the fair creature as still as a statue, his teeth gritting and his blue-green eyes flashing in determination. Whatever elven traits he had recognised on his companion before seemed to have gone, replaced by a hardened, expressionless mask, and Ceranos didn't feel Elven anymore at that moment. Whatever creature it was that stood now next to him could only be described as something frozen, distant, void… even frightening. Even the iron blades of his comrade's hatchets glimmered in the semi-dark, in welcome to the Orc-blood that would be shed soon.

Still they waited, still they held their breath. And then a snarl sounded at their left, breaking the spell of that silence.

"Now!" Ceranos shouted.

The first Orcs to charge were also the first ones unfortunate enough to encounter Aragorn and Ceranos's weapons, yet that didn't daunt the horde in the slightest. Wielding their scimitars threateningly, the Orcs tried to get their hands on the insolent intruders, forcing the two warriors to stand back to back. Aragorn cut down his opponents one after the other, while the Elf slashed every Orc that stood on his way, swirling his hatchets swiftly and accurately. Yet both of them knew that this was a battle they couldn't win. More Orcs took the place of every hewed one, growling and shrieking their hatred at both human and elf, and the two friends realised that they had to move towards the exit at all costs.

"This way!" Ceranos cried, fighting his way onwards. Aragorn followed, yet he could still see more Orcs standing in formation a little further ahead.

"Ceranos!" he cried as he ran his sword through another Orc's chest. They were heading exactly where the fiends wanted them to.

"I know! Hold on!" Ceranos said.

"But…! "

"Do as I say!" In a flash, one of Ceranos's hatchets flew past Aragorn, burying itself in the face of another Orc that was ready to hew the ranger. "Trust me and keep fighting!"

Aragorn nodded, deciding to have faith in his companion. Grabbed with one hand the hatchet, passing it swiftly to his friend, he fought on, dearly hoping that Ceranos knew what he was doing. Just when it seemed that the Orcs that had been waiting for them would attack as well, Aragorn felt Ceranos grabbing him and pushing him to the right, towards a narrow bridge. Ceranos wasn't gentle, that was for certain, and Aragorn couldn't help but hiss in pain. The Man turned to protest despite their situation, when he saw an Orkish scimitar ready to land in his friend's back.

"Look out!"

The flowing motion Ceranos displayed could only be compared to lightning. Before Aragorn could even blink, he had whirled around and hit the Orc squarely on his jaw with his pack, pushing him against the rest of their would-be murderers. Without a word, he prodded Aragorn onwards again and, after a few long strides, they had finally crossed to the other side. The Orcs hesitated for a moment, but they started following too, one by one. Wincing, Aragorn got ready to run again; that is, until he noticed that Ceranos had crouched down and was currently looking inside his pack.

"What are you doing?" he cried incredulously.

Ceranos didn't answer. He simply took out a small bundle and the remaining lightening rod, murmuring something to the likes of, 'No time for flints.' Before Aragorn could ask what the elf was talking about, Ceranos struck the lightening rod on the ground and, as soon as it burst into flames, he used it to light the small bundle; then flung the bundle against the Orcs, making sure that his aim was good. The moment that it struck amongst the foul beasts, it went off, destroying both the bridge and the Orcs that were on it. The rest of the horde were left stuck on the other end, shouting words of hate at both the man and the elf.

Ceranos faced Aragorn with a small smile that was mirrored almost identically as it looked as if they were finally out of danger. But, just when they started walking away, more Orcs stepped out of the shadows in front of them, snarling and growling. Ceranos swore under his breath, using the dwarven tongue.

"I do not know what you said, but I utterly agree," Aragorn said wryly. He swiftly set himself to fight again, but Ceranos stopped him.

"No, we run!" he cried.

And run they did, as fast as their feet could carry them, heading to the only way that was open to them: a flight of stairs that led to a single room. They threw themselves inside, finding themselves in a cemetery. Indeed, the place was filled with great stone sarcophagi, holding inside the bodies of Dwarves that had long since passed to the Waiting Halls of Mandos. Before they could think about it for long though, they heard the Orcs coming up as well, so they pushed a sarcophagus to the doors to bar them.

Not a moment too soon. The Orcs moved as one, trying to push the doors open. They pushed again and again, each time making Aragorn and Ceranos practically jump. In the end though, everything grew quiet once more. The two friends let out a breath they hadn't realised they had been holding, and then sat down to rest their backs against their improvised barrier, closing their eyes. However they opened them again in an instant for they saw something that neither of them liked at all.

There was no other exit. If there ever was one, it was now buried amid the rubble of a collapsed wall.

TBC…


	8. Escape From Moria

Aragorn and Ceranos's predicament seemed darker than ever. They had looked everywhere for any possible way out of the room, but there was none to be found. To make matters worse, the Orcs had started their attempt to break in again; both friends could hear the heavy clank and low creaking of the doors as armour and wood slammed together. In the end, Aragorn sat on the floor, resting his head on his hands.

"We are trapped," he murmured. "There's nothing more we can do, is there?"

Ceranos didn't speak, not at once anyway. He simply stared at the doors for several moments, watching as they slowly yielded to the strength of the numerous Orcs that kept pushing them forcefully, and then he stood up.

"There is one thing we _can_ do," he said, his eyes flashing with resolution. He slowly stepped closer to the doors, holding up his axe.

"What is that?" Aragorn asked, cocking his head.

"The first Orc to enter will find out," Ceranos answered, setting himself in a fighting position. "And then we make sure more follow before we fall."

Aragorn stared at Ceranos, pursing his lips, and he decided that the elf had a point. Just when he was just about to get back on his feet, his sword in hand, however, he felt something brush by him swiftly. He looked up, and he caught a glimpse of a thrush flying away, straight through a small hole on the rocky wall where he could see beams of light shine brightly.

"Ceranos!" he called.

Ceranos faced Aragorn in mild surprise, but the man showed him the hole. "Up there!"

Ceranos looked up and grinned broadly, understanding what was in Aragorn's mind and they both climbed the rubble to examine the hole. It wasn't a very big one: a man's fist could barely go through. Yet they could easily see that behind that crack on the wall lay their only means of escape.

"Can you widen it?" Aragorn asked.

"After seven centuries of digging, that should be plain sailing," Ceranos said, opening his pack. "Although…"

"What?"

"Remind me not to use my pack as a means of defence next time." Ceranos took out his pickaxe, making a face as he revealed its state. Its handle had broken in two and a mere splinter was the only thing that kept both ends together.

But for the constant crashing sound that rang throughout the room, Aragorn would have grinned broadly. "Let us hope there _will_ be a next time. Now hurry!"

Ceranos didn't have to be told twice. He held the pickaxe with both hands and started hitting the wall swiftly and surely at several weak points. Neither man tried to think of the frightening sound of a wooden plank snapping or the triumphant shrieks of the Orcs as they slowly broke down the door. They simply focused on the bright light that rushed through the hole that Ceranos managed to open.

"No time to make it any bigger," the elf said, flinching slightly as another sharp crack filled the room. "We will have to squeeze through, head-first. Go!"

"No! You first!" Aragorn said.

"This is not the time to argue!" Ceranos snapped, grabbing the man and all but shoving him through the hole before following.

The sight of the daylight was one for sore eyes, that was for certain. Yet they didn't have the luxury to savour it just yet, for, as it turned out, the rock that they were currently standing on was the only thing that stood between them and a roaring waterfall. Aragorn looked down, trying to see beyond the foam, while Ceranos glued himself against the rock wall, closing his eyes tightly.

"We have only one choice and that is to jump!" Aragorn cried, clutching the elf's shoulder. "Get ready on the count of three!"

"Strider?"

Aragorn frowned as he noticed Ceranos's blanching face. "What?"

"There is something I should tell you!"

"Now?" Aragorn asked dubiously. Realisation caught up with him, however, and he couldn't help but stare at the elf. "You cannot swim!"

"At all! I cannot even paddle!"

"What kind of an elf does not know how to swim?" Aragorn exclaimed incredulously.

"One that was raised by Dwarves, do we really have to discuss this now?" Ceranos retorted.

"All right, calm down! We will have to think of something else."

"We will?" the elf asked, relieved.

"Yes. And I have thought of it already!"

"Well?"

"Hold on to me tightly!"

"What?" Ceranos cried.

Aragorn's answer the Man's fingers grabbed him by the armour, dragging him down to his own leap down the waterfall.

"ARAGORN!"

Aragorn registered Ceranos screaming his name, but he didn't have the luxury to ponder on it at that moment. All he could afford to do was take a deep breath, close his eyes, and then extend his body in a diving position, hoping that Ceranos had the sense to follow suit. He only opened his eyes after he hit the water, searching for the elf's form, and, when he finally caught sight of him, clearly stunned after the impact with the water and sinking fast, he swam behind him to wrap his arms around the elven body. Before he became too desperate for air, he swam to the surface and dragged Ceranos to the riverbed, pulling both of them out of the water. Ceranos's closed eyes made Aragorn realize that he had to act quickly. After rolling the elf on his stomach, he removed the helmet and pressing with both his hands down Ceranos's back in order to force the water out of his lungs.

Ceranos responded instantly, coughing out violently all the water he had unwillingly swallowed, and soon he was breathing in precious air once more.

"Are you all right?" Aragorn asked softly.

"I am… now," Ceranos whispered. He slowly turned on his back, his hand moving the wet hair off his face. "You know, Strider… this is _not_ the best way… to keep a friendship…"

"You still consider me a friend then?" Aragorn asked, smiling.

"I do…" Ceranos answered, sitting up and wringing the water off his hair. "A half-crazed one, but a friend nonetheless…"

"Good." Yet Aragorn knew now there was something that had to be cleared up. "Ceranos… How did you find out about my real name?"

Ceranos blushed guiltily. "I… guessed it?"

Aragorn crossed his arms, indicating that _that_ was a cheap answer, so Ceranos sighed and held up his hands in a sign of peace.

"All right, the truth then," he said. "I heard you say it, after I had rescued you from the Orcs."

Aragorn frowned. "But I had been unconscious."

"Delirious with fever, actually," Ceranos said. "The slashes on your back must have been infected with poison, for you kept shivering violently and constantly addressing someone. I tried to treat your wounds the best I could, but I'm no healer and, by the time your fever dropped, well… I learnt enough." He looked up at the man. "I didn't mean to find out. And I understood that you had your reasons to keep it a secret and I intended to respect that, that's why I didn't say anything. I had no right in knowing anyway, since we met only four days ago."

Aragorn regarded the guilt-ridden Ceranos for many moments as the elf wrung his hands nervously, his eyes locked on the ground, and he finally decided that he could believe the story. So, he clasped Ceranos's shoulder gently, prodding him to look up at him.

"You did nothing wrong. It's true, I wish you found out about my true identity because I told you rather than because of a mere accident, but… I do not regret you knowing. It has been only four days, yet, after all we've been through, I would gladly tell you my real name had you asked it."

"You… mean that?" Ceranos asked, looking up shyly.

Aragorn nodded and stretched his hand in Ceranos's direction. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildur's heir and the heir to the throne of Gondor."

Ceranos looked at the proffered hand for several moments, and finally he took the man's hand in his meekly.

"Glad to meet you," he said in a soft tone. "And thank you for confiding in me."

"You're welcome," Aragorn said with a smile. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Actually… I will feel much better after I do this." With that, Ceranos rose to his feet and looked in the direction of the Moria, shouting at the top of his lungs, "_Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul, rakhâs!_"

Aragorn cocked his head. "What did you say?"

"I will tell you as we walk," Ceranos replied, picking up his pack. "Let us go."

* * *

The rest of the journey had been uneventful. Ceranos had asked Aragorn if he could escort him to the borders of Rivendell, an offer that the Man had welcomed happily, even though he was concerned at first Ceranos wouldn't arrive for the festivities in Nogrod on time. However, Ceranos had assured him that he preferred to see him reach his home safely and, besides, his journey wouldn't so difficult from then onwards; the main road led straight to the Blue Mountains. Thus it was that they traveled to Rivendell, the terrors of the Mines of Moria becoming nothing more than a bad dream. Only Aragorn's injured back reminded me how close they had been to losing their lives. Still, neither of them regretted going through Khazad-dûm; the friendship they had formed made up for the hardships and fears they had to go through during those particular four days.

It was also the reason that their hearts were heavy on the day that they had reached the border of Imladris. As Aragorn looked at the familiar trees, the very ones under which he had ridden along with Elladan and Elrohir so long before, he realized that he couldn't say goodbye to Ceranos just yet. Who knew when he would be able to see the elf again…

"Let us sit here for a while," he suggested, beckoning Ceranos to sit beside him on a fallen trunk nearby.

Ceranos nodded, following Aragorn's example. Silence followed as they didn't speak, unsure what they could say to ease the parting that was imminent. In the end, it was Ceranos who broke the silence.

"I am glad to have met you, you know," he said. "We were a good team, considering all the trouble we had to face."

"I was about to say what a _dreadful_ team we are for the same reasons," Aragorn said.

Though both laughed at that, Ceranos grew sober once more.

"There is something I want you to have," he said softly, and reached for his pack, digging out his pipe. "Here."

Aragorn's eyes opened wide in surprise. "This is yours! You smoke your pipe-weed with it every night!"

"Nevertheless, I want you to take it."

"Ceranos, I do not even smoke. You cannot possibly hand your pipe to somebody who will never use it."

"You don't have to smoke, you can put it in a corner of your room. It can still serve as a reminder of our adventure," Ceranos said. "Please accept it."

Aragorn remained silent for a few minutes, clearly indecisive; then finally reached for the pipe.

"Thank you. I only wish I could give you something back in return."

"There is something you can do for me," Ceranos said with a soft smile.

"Then tell me. You know you only have to name it."

Ceranos nodded with a purse of his lips, and then took a deep breath to say it. "Don't watch me go."

Aragorn blinked, certainly taken aback by that kind of request. "Why?"

"It is an old Dwarven belief," Ceranos said, scratching his head in embarrassment. "One should not watch the other go, because it means they will never see each other again."

"Orcs are not the only creatures that are superstitious then," Aragorn teased mildly. Still, a part of him was touched as that kind of request was just Ceranos's way of asking him to meet again, so he placed his arm across the elf's shoulders. "We will see each other again. Though my destiny lies elsewhere for the time being, I will come to the Blue Mountains and visit you at the first chance."

"Is that a promise?" Ceranos asked.

"It is a promise."

Ceranos smiled broadly, and he held Aragorn in a warm embrace that the man returned; a way of saying their last goodbye.

"Stay safe."

"You too, my friend."

It was then that Aragorn's ears picked up a familiar sound. Standing up, he cocked his head and listened carefully. Yes… it _was_ the jingling of bells! And a neigh as well!

"That is Asfaloth!" Aragorn said with a smile, and he hurried forward, waving his arms. "Over here!"

There was another neigh, and a voice calling back at Aragorn; he had been heard.

"You have to meet Glorfindel," the man started, addressing Ceranos, "He is one of the best warriors of Rivendell and a…" His voice trailed off, for when he turned around, he realised he was alone; Ceranos was gone. He had obviously left while Aragorn had his back turned to him.

"You made sure that I would not watch you go," the man murmured. He would certainly miss the strange Elf...

The sound of clopping cut into Aragorn's train of thought, and then there was Glorfindel himself, riding on Asfaloth.

"I knew the voice sounded familiar! _Mae govannen_, Estel!" the elf said with a smile, dismounting in order to greet the young one properly.

"It is good to see you too, Glorfindel," Aragorn said, completing the embrace. "What news of my home?"

"I can tell you, but you will not like what you hear," Glorfindel said, chuckling. "Lady Galadriel informed Elrond by a travelling pigeon that you were venturing towards home despite her warnings. Needless to say that Elrond got concerned about your safety and he meant to send warriors to retrieve you if you didn't arrive to Rivendell on time. Fortunately you made it."

"I am not the one who nearly eaten by wargs," Aragorn pointed out in a mild tease, only to sober in the next moment. "How does he fare?"

"He fares well, though he is confined in his bed. But come, you will see for yourself once we get back to the Last Homely House," Glorfindel replied. "Gather your things; Asfaloth can carry us both."

Aragorn complied, careful not to discomfort his back, since it was still throbbing at times. But Glorfindel wasn't blind, and he noticed the stiff manner in which the man moved.

"Is everything all right?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Aragorn winced inwardly, realizing that there was no point in hiding the truth. "Sort of. I came across trouble."

"That much is obvious. Let me see."

Aragorn winced once more; nevertheless he removed his shirt to show him his injured arms and back.

Glorfindel sighed gently. "The welts are ugly, but perhaps Elrond can treat them properly and make certain no scars are left." He ruffled Aragorn's hair playfully. "You were saying something about Elladan, _erneth?_"

Aragorn sighed in a wry manner, but that didn't stop Glorfindel from laughing. He helped the Ranger on the horse and, as soon as he was settled too, he whispered to the steed to start cantering home.

"Comfortable enough, Estel?" he Glorfindel as they rode on.

"Yes," said Aragorn sleepily; the rocking motion of the horse was lulling him gently. "I only wish you could have met Ceranos."

"Who?"

"A friend I met," Aragorn answered, trying to stay awake. "He helped me when I was captured by the Orcs."

Glorfindel smiled. "It sounds you have a very interesting story to tell. I would very much like to hear it, and I am sure Elrond and the twins will want to hear it also over a refreshing meal," he said.

"Yes," Aragorn sighed, his heart warming at the prospect of finally returning to Rivendell. Resting his head on the Elf's back, he finally gave in to sleep, imagining Arwen welcoming him with open arms.

To Be Concluded…

**Footnotes**:

*_Sedho, Aragorn._: Hold still, Aragorn. (Sindarin)

**_Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul, rakhâs!_: I spit on your grave, Orks! (Khuzdul)

***_erneth_: young one (Sindarin)


	9. A Promise Kept

**The Year 3019 of the Third Age**

_Caras Galadhon_

The sound of laughter awoke Aragorn, and he opened his eyes in slumbered surprise to identify its source: a very joyful Merry, who was playing tug-of-war with Pippin and Boromir. It didn't take a great mind to see that the two youngest of the Hobbits had taken a great liking to the Gondorian, and Boromir seemed to have become quite attached to them too; and he was enjoying the game as much as the little ones did.

Smiling gently, Aragorn sat up and looked at the other members of the Fellowship. He saw Sam and Frodo talking about the beauty of the _elanor_ flowers that sprouted at this time of year, while Legolas and Gimli still eyed each other warily without exchanging a single word. Apparently, it would be a long time yet before those two started getting along.

Still, Aragorn didn't let that kind of thought really dampen his spirit. The peace and tranquillity that existed in the Golden Wood, by the power of the Lady Galadriel, had a soothing effect on them all. It was something that the man himself was quite grateful for, especially after the pain and sorrow he had been through after Gandalf's death.

Gandalf… Aragorn's mind drifted back to the moment the wizard fell from the Bridge of Khazad-dûm and he felt his heart sinking anew. So many misfortunes could have been avoided had things been done differently in the Mines of Moria. If Ceranos had been in the Company, or if Aragorn had remembered the path the elf had shown him, then Gandalf would have still been alive. The way things had turned now, however, it was left to Aragorn to continue leading the Fellowship to Mount Doom. It was a task that he had preferred not to undertake, fearing the corruption of the Ring. The Lady's true words still rang into his ears, warning him. 'The Quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little, and it will fail.'

But no, this wasn't the time to think like that. Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel had offered the Fellowship a place to stay in order to rest and heal, and their people would help in the best way possible, offering provisions to help them carry on with their Quest. Valar knew they'd need all that them in the days to follow.

Indeed, after a month's rest the Fellowship were ready to set off again. The Elves had bestowed them all with gifts both beautiful and useful for their journey, like traveling cloaks, and boats by which they would travel to the Falls of Rauros, the area closest to the borders of Mordor. Three boats were tied on the riverside, all of them filled with lembas and fresh water. In one of them would be Boromir along with Merry and Pippin; Aragorn would be in another one with Sam and Frodo; and in the third one would be Legolas and Gimli. One of them wasn't all that eager to the prospect, though…

"I am not getting into any of these contraptions!" Gimli declared stubbornly, his arms crossed.

"Master Dwarf, you are holding us up!" Boromir said. "Please, get into the boat!"

"No!"

"Why not?"

"It is not safe. It… it might capsize!"

"With an oarsman like Legolas?" Pippin asked, puzzled.

"And this is an Elven-boat, they don't just capsize!" Merry seconded.

"An Elven-boat and an Elf for an oarsman! And you expect me to be comforted now?" cried the Dwarf, exasperated.

Frodo leaned close to Arargorn. "What's wrong with Gimli?" he asked the man softly.

"He is afraid of the water. All the Dwarves are afraid of it, because of what they were created of," Aragorn answered. "If you remember, Frodo, they were made of stone, and water corrodes stone. Gimli will not melt, of course, and he knows it; but the fear is there nonetheless and he prefers to avoid any contact with water if he can help it." He looked up at the Dwarf. "Is it not true, Master Gimli?"

Gimli only turned crimson and refused to answer, but it was enough. Legolas looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"If your kind is so afraid of water, how do you cross rivers or lakes?" he asked in genuine curiosity.

"We build bridges of course! Your kind could make use of those!" Gimli retorted.

Legolas, however, was hardly fazed. He simply laughed. "I fear we cannot afford enough time to wait for you to build a bridge all on your own, Master Dwarf. So, you will have to settle for the boat or travel on foot on the riverside. I hope you will be able to keep up!"

Gimli still remained on the edge of the river, first looking at the water with disgust and then other throwing daggers at the smiling Legolas. In the end though, he made a light jump and quickly landed on the boat.

"I hate the water, I hate getting wet, and I hate _you_," he growled slowly, and he sat down with a huff.

Legolas shook his head in an amused manner. "Dwarves…" he said under his breath.

"Elves!" Gimli snapped, hearing Legolas quite clearly.

Aragorn chuckled before he could help it, yet he made sure Gimli didn't notice him. But, even as he laughed, he realized that he could take Gimli with him when he would visit Ceranos. The man was quite certain that Gimli would take a liking to him.

"Is something the matter, Strider?" Sam asked, noticing the Man in thought.

"No, my good Sam," the man assured him kindly. "Just memories of old." And with that, he gave the signal to start rowing away.

* * *

**The Year 3021 of the Third Age**

Thundering hooves made all birds and creatures jump out of the cantering horses' path as a team of knights rode on, following their king across the country side on a quest to visit all the realms of Middle-earth and thus renew the alliances between them and Gondor. It was a notion that advisors had been against all along, reasoning that the king could send emissaries to speak on his behalf, but Aragorn himself wouldn't have it. He wanted to wander Middle-earth very much like the way he used to in his days as a simple Ranger, when he was unburdened by the responsibilities of a kingdom on his shoulders. Moreover, he meant to keep a promise he had given a friend more than seventy years ago. Gimli was with him for that very reason, since the Dwarf expressed a wish to meet the strange Elf that Aragorn had told him about. On the other hand, Legolas, to both their regret, couldn't accompany them; he had already declared that he wanted to visit Mirkwood and his father, aware that the woodland realm had also been under attack during the War of the Ring. Nevertheless, all three Hunters intended to meet on their way to Gondor once their visits were over.

Gimli leaned sideways to have a look ahead - sitting behind Aragorn on the same horse certainly had its disadvantages – and grinned broadly when he recognized the rocky slopes in the distance.

"The Blue Mountains, at last!"

"Yes, indeed, Master Gimli," Aragorn replied with a smile. "We will camp as soon as nightfall settles and, should our pace be good, we'll reach the gates of Nogrod by tomorrow."

"Rest first?" Gimli echoed, and then nodded. "Good. My back is killing me after so many hours of riding."

"So is mine, and I am sure Brego will be more than happy to rid the saddle for a while," Aragorn said and he patted the horse's neck kindly.

Brego snorted slightly in response, appreciating the gesture.

"I hope this Ceranos will remember you, otherwise we would have suffered all this riding for nothing," Gimli said thoughtfully in that moment. "Seventy years is a long time."

"Not to an Elf; though I _have_ changed after all this time."

"Is that why you have the pipe with you?"

"Yes. I will show it to him so he will recognize me."

Gimli shook his head. "You can't be all that different. Who knows, he will probably recognise you right away and give you quite the welcome. Now _that_ will be a nice reunion."

"Yes, it will," Aragorn admitted. After all, seventy-two years might have been little for for an Elf, but it was quite a long one for a man like him, and he couldn't help wondering what Ceranos had been up to all these years. He just hoped he would get his answers soon…

The next day, Aragorn and Gimli set out for the Dwarven city on their own, fearing that a large number of soldiers would alarm the Dwarves. They found them quite easily, for Gimli knew the city's whereabouts and, besides, the doors were wide open.

The two spear-wielding sentries that stood guard by the doors put their weapons forward at the sight of the newcomers, forcing them to halt. "Stand and proclaim yourselves!" one of them commanded sternly.

"I am Gimli, son of Glóin from the Mountain Erebor, at your service," Gimli stating at once. "You know my father as one of Thorin Oakenshield's companions."

"I am Thran, son of Fali, at your service and your family's," replied the guard, answering Gimli's greeting courteously. "And aye, the names of Thorin Oakenshield and Glóin are well known to us. Everyone in this city has heard of their victory over Smaug in order to reclaim the fair kingdom of the Lonely Mountain." His gaze drifted in Aragorn's direction. "Can you answer for the Man that accompanies you?"

"I can answer for myself, Master Thran," Aragorn replied. "I am Lord Elessar of the House of Telcontar, King of the Realm of Gondor and Arnor."

Thran had apparently heard of the name before, for he instantly bowed low.

"Forgive me, Lord Elessar. Had I known it was you, I wouldn't have shown such disrespect."

"I was not offended, I assure you," Aragorn said with a smile. "May we enter the city?"

"Aye, my lord. But you should state the nature of your business first."

"We have come to see one of the dwellers of Nogrod," answered Gimli. "The Elf who is known as Ceranos Orcbane."

Thran's eyes widened at the mention of the name. "It is a wonder to me how you have come to know of him. His outings to the surface were few and only whenever there was great need."

"I know him," Aragorn said. "We met seventy years ago and I have considered him a friend from then since then. Tell me, Thran, how does he fare?"

There was a small pause of silence before Thran finally answered, slowly clearly hesitant.

"My lord… Ceranos perished during the War of the Ring, almost a year ago."

Aragorn felt his heart contracting violently at those words.

"How did he die?" he asked softly.

"Honourably. Fighting with his brothers-in-arms against the charging armies of Sauron."

Both Aragorn and Gimli bowed their heads solemnly, for they realized Thran was talking about the Men of the East that attacked Erebor, the Dwarven Realm closest to Sauron's lands. Moreover, they both knew that the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains had sent reinforcements to help their fellow clans as soon as they heard news of the impending attack.

"Were you with him when…?" Aragorn started asking, even though the sea of emotions that were raging within him made things difficult.

"No, my lord," Thran answered with a shake of his head. "But you might want to talk to Nôm, son of Nali. He's from Thrir's clan, so he was always close to Ceranos – and he was also the one to have last seen him alive."

"Where can we find him?" Gimli asked.

"At his home. If you ask around, somebody will surely take you to him."

"Thank you kindly, Master Thran. Good fortune to you."

"And to you, Master Gimli. I bid you farewell, Lord Elessar," replied the guard, bowing low.

"Farewell," the Man whispered. His mind still lingered on the news he had heard only a few moments ago, and as his heart was heavy with grief, he let Gimli inquire about the whereabouts of the Dwarf they were searching for.

* * *

One look at Nôm was enough indication that the particular Dwarf had seen his own share of the War of the Ring, just like Gimli and Aragorn had. He held a sturdy staff that helped his faulty walking and his left eye was missing, replaced by a deep scar that started from his eyebrow and ended close to his beard. But those sorts of wounds only made him seem older than he actually. In fact, he was still a strong Dwarf, and his good eye sparkled with vitality he looked at the two warriors before him.

"I am told you wanted to see me about one of the members of my clan," he said after the customary courteous bows and greetings, and he beckoned them to sit on two chairs.

"Aye, about Ceranos Orcbane," Gimli answered, sitting down. Aragorn, on the other hand, only nodded.

"Ach… Rakhâs-Ûdrig," Nôm said, his tone and expression wistful. "That is a name I have not heard in quite some time and yet my heart still grieves for him. He was a brave and kind lad… or perhaps not so much a lad." He chuckled softly, almost sadly. "He had already been part of Thrir's clan for almost six hundred years when I was born." In the next moment, he darted his gaze at Aragorn. "I'm told you had met him."

"I did," admitted the Man.

"Might I ask when?"

Aragorn nodded and told Nôm everything, from their meeting to their risky venture across Moria, and finally ending with their parting of ways. For the duration of the narrative, Nôm listened intently along with Gimli – this was the first time he had heard the full tale told.

When the king had finished, Nôm shook his head sadly. "Yes, I remember the particular festivities very well, for he told us of that tale upon his return. It was the last journey to lead him far from home before war broke out." Nôm lit his pipe, the small spark flame from his match disappearing as quickly as it had sprung to life. "Ceranos always meant to return to the city of Khazad-dûm one day. That is what always told Náin, his foster brother, even though the latter would hear none of it; he feared for his kin's safety. For had loved that place from the first time he set his eyes upon it."

"I still remember his face when he looked on Moria for the first time," said Aragorn with a small smile. "He seemed like a pilgrim visiting a holy land."

"Aye, that sounds like Ceranos," the one-eyed Dwarf said, chuckling. "He was an Elf and yet his love for the darkness of the caves could only be compared to a Dwarf's!" Yet he soon sobered, his face becoming quite grave. "Most of the Dwarves that live today have known Rakhâs-Ûdrig since they could remember. Some had even associated him with the Blue Mountains themselves, myself icluded. We believed that the world could come to its end, but the Mountains and he would still be around, the only truly immortal remnants of a time long gone. How little did we know."

Mournful silence filled the room, and it seemed none of the three present in the room were willing to break it. In the end, though, Gimli decided to speak.

"The guard, Thran, told us that you were with him when he was slain."

"Nay, I was not with him when he died, more like I was the last to have seen him alive. But perhaps I should tell you my story from the beginning, so you will understand.

"Before the War of the Ring broke out, Sauron had sent his vile servants to the Dwarves of Erebor more than once, seeking an alliance with them and promising them Rings of Power and even the kingdom of Khazad-dûm. Two times the Dark Lord's messengers went to King Dáin Ironfoot, offering him one out of two choices: to offer his services to the Enemy or die. Both times King Dáin answered naught, wishing to gain some time while he sent word to us and our brothers at the Iron Hills to come to his aid as swiftly as possible.

"From our part, we had already heard of Men from the East becoming bolder and an army of them approaching dangerously close to the borders of Dale, the Men's neighbouring city. And so, before the year ended, about the time that we knew the dark messenger would seek an answer from King Dáin for a third time, a thousand Nogrod Dwarves marched toward Erebor by our king's order, each clan led by its own patriarch. Náin was in command of our clan, along with Rakhâs-Ûdrig."

The surprised looks on both Aragorn and Gimli's faces made Nôm nod in assurance.

"Yes, Ceranos was a patriarch. He had been one ever since Thrir's death. Thrir himself placed his foster son in that rank as he was still lying on his death bed."

"Even if Ceranos was no Dwarf?" Gimli asked dubiously.

"Yes," Nôm replied. "The patriarchal right goes either to the lord's firstborn son or, should there not be any, to a clan-member of the lord's own choice. Ceranos was adopted before Náin was born and, despite his race, he was still considered Thrir's firstborn child."

"But he did not take up this position, did he?" Aragorn asked at that point After all, only one answer could explain how come Ceranos had gone on an errand such as mining out stones when he had first met him.

"No, my lord, he did not. Not until much later," Nôm answered, verifying the Man's suspicion. "He realised that, at the time Thrir chose him as patriarch, a lot of dwarves from other clans, even the King himself, would frown upon such an arrangement and, if things became heated enough, the harsh words would be soon replaced by the spilling of blood. So, even though he knew he was going against his foster father's wish, he placed Náin in his stead until the time would come that all the Dwarves accepted him as part of Nogrod. Náin and all of us that belonged to the clan were disappointed, admittedly; we knew that Ceranos would make a good ruler. Still, we understood our comrade's hesitation. And by the look on your face, I think you understand too, my lord."

Aragorn nodded solemnly. Yes, he understood Ceranos's decision. Hadn't he himself chosen to become a Ranger and denied his kingship for similar reasons more than seventy years ago?

"However, all this changed during the War. Náin's aged body couldn't keep up with his stout heart, while his son, Lóin, was too young and inexperienced as a leader," Nôm continued. "Because of this, Ceranos was the one who assumed the command and led our march to Erebor. Náin marched by our side despite his age, wishing to fight too, but also because we had decided not to reveal that Ceranos had taken up his rank yet, not wanting to cause any discomfort to the other Dwarves at such news. Thus, while everyone else believed Náin was still the patriarch of our clan, we, as a clan, knew better.

"Just as we had expected, Ceranos turned out to be a prudent commander, dividing our rations wisely and with care, organizing every Dwarf to his appropriate task and position so everyone would offer the most efficient service possible. It was through Ceranos's careful planning that we marched on without setbacks. In fact, our pace was so good that we would arrive in Erebor much earlier than we had believed at first.

Yet it was when we reached the borders of the Woodland Realm that Ceranos Ceranos proved himself as both a good a leader and a great diplomat."

"How so?" asked Aragorn.

"I think I know. Because of the Elves," Gimli said. "They didn't suffer thirteen Dwarves to pass through Mirkwood, why should they allow a whole army?"

"You are right, Gimli, Glóin's son," said Nôm. "We had reached the woods when the Elven march wardens forbade us to go any further at the king's command. I suppose Lord Thranduil had to face his own share of enemies from the East and he did not wish to worry about Dwarves trampling in his realm as well. After all, there is not much love between the Firstborn and us, even though an Elf did grow among Dwarves, earning a place in our hearts.

"But I stray. For one reason or other, we were not allowed to enter Mirkwood. Then Ceranos stepped out and asked the march wardens to lead him to Lord Thranduil, for he wished to speak with him. I don't know at what the Elves wondered most, at the boldness of that request or that there was actually an Elf among the Dwarves and even acted as one of them. Nevertheless, they didn't deny his request. Ceranos was taken to the city, while we all remained behind, hoping that he would convince Lord Thranduil to let us march through the forest.

"A whole day passed and then it was morning again, but Ceranos didn't come back. Then night fell again, and we started getting nervous, fearing for our patriarch's fate. It was on the dawn of the third day, when the first whispers of worry that Thranduil had imprisoned Ceranos had sounded throughout the camp, that our lord came back. His face looked tired, clearly showing everyone that he had not slept much, if at all; but there was a strange glint in his eyes and a remarkable vigour in his movements as he stepped on a rock and addressed us.

"'Dwarves of Nogrod!' he cried out. 'Lord Thranduil has listened to what I had to say about the predicament our brothers are in and what will happen should Erebor fall because we were not able to go and aid them. We both agreed that at these dark times there is only one enemy, and it is neither the Elves nor the Dwarves. It is Sauron!' and at that moment his voice boomed with loathing at that foul name. 'He who cares nothing but for the domination and corruption of all the peoples of Middle-earth. The only one who takes pleasure in the hate between Ilúvatar and Aulë's creations. But he does not know that no matter how much hate exists between the two races, it can be easily surpassed by the love they both share for their freedom! _We_ shall make him understand that!'

"As soon as these words were uttered, a great number of armed Elves came out of the shadows and stood behind Ceranos.

"'These warriors,' continued our patriarch, 'were sent by Lord Thranduil to join forces with us and fight on our side, for the Elvenking is aware that our disadvantage lies in ranged combat. I would have some of us join the Elves in their own battle against Sauron and cover their own disadvantage, but Lord Thranduil said that none of the Dwarves is obliged to do so if they don't wish it. You know how I stand in this… What say you? What do the other patriarchs say?'

"There was silence for many long moments, and then one of us stepped forward.

"'I am Thrond, son of Bain,' he cried out for all to hear, 'and my clan is ready to offer its services to the Mirkwood Elves!'

"'I am Darin, son of Druin,' cried out another patriarch, 'and aye, my men and I are ready to help as well!'

"'And I am Omi, son of Nami, and my kinsmen's axes are on the Elves' side too!'

"Ceranos looked at all three patriarchs and bowed low to them, thanking them for their offer and then he turned to the commander of the Elves. "'You heard our answer. What will you say to that, Master Eregdos?'

"The Elf looked at all of us for a while, and then he faced Rakhâs-Ûdrig again. "'On behalf of our king, we accept your help gladly,' he said.

It was something that made all of us cheer, while it brought a broad smile to Ceranos's face. "'So be it," he said softly and the two Elves clasped each other's arms, sealing the agreement before Ceranos faced us once more.

"'Even though these two days have not been wasted, there is no point losing any more time. Thrond, Darin and Omi will stay with their men in Mirkwood, but we must press on to Erebor, where King Dáin still awaits our help. We must keep marching till we reach the Lonely Mountain without any more stops, so to ensure that we will arrive in time. I know that what I ask is difficult, but bear in mind what our forefathers used to say: a warrior knows true rest once he's dead! To Erebor!'

"'To Erebor!' we all shouted in one voice, our blood boiling with the urge to rush to our brothers' side. In less than a half hour we had already set off, and Ceranos was marching by Náin and Lóin once more, his tall form standing out among the Dwarves, while the Elves marched close behind us, their bows at hand.

"'You have done well, my brother,' I heard Náin say to his foster kin, his eyes shining in admiration.

"'But there is something troubling you,' Ceranos said, obviously noticing some other feelings mingled in Náin's face. "You think I should not have accepted Lord Thranduil's help?'

"'No, no, far from that,' Náin assured him. 'I am merely not sure how Dáin will react to that.'

"'If the situation is as bleak as I fear it will be, neither the King under the Mountain nor indeed the King of the Iron Hills will object to the Elves' presence,' Ceranos murmured wryly.

"'What makes you say that?'

"'King Thranduil." With that, Ceranos lowered his head to make sure that only those he trusted would hear him. 'Some of his scouts noticed armies of the Men of the East marching toward Dale and Erebor. They are many, Náin… Too many.'

"'You mean…?'

"'Aye," Ceranos sighed, his face saddened.

Náin's eyes opened wide, frightened at the realisation.

"'Great Mahal… we're marching to our deaths.'

"'All of us. 'Elves and Dwarves. Thranduil is not sure he will be able to last against his own foes either.'

Náin remained silent for a few moments, clearly pondering on the situation.

"'Once we fall, nothing will stop Sauron from sweeping everything in his path, taking all Middle-earth as his own. But you know something, my friend and kin?' he finally said. 'I will welcome death if it means that I died for my freedom.'

"'And I will welcome it on my family's side as well,' Ceranos said, his hand resting on the old Dwarf's shoulder.

"'I know you will, brother… I know you will,' whispered Náin kindly, looking at the Elf's eyes."

Nôm brushed off the tear that had flowed down his cheek with the back of his hand, while Aragorn and Gimli felt the lump that had formed in their throats almost choking them now.

"So it happened. We reached Erebor in time, and the Eastern Men were many indeed, but we did not lose heart. For five days we fought desperately, killing foes till our axes and hands were soaked in blood, the Elves always by our side with their bows and arrows. However, all of us knew the horrible truth, even though none of us dared utter it: we were becoming fewer in numbers with each passing day, while the Easterlings only grew more.

"It was on the dawn of the sixth day that our enemies struck the hardest, forcing us to retreat toward the Mountain. I chanced to be fighting just a little farther away from Ceranos, Náin and Lóin on that day, and I could clearly see them all taking out their foes one by one. Our patriarch was deadly as he proved swift, and Lóin's axe claimed the lives of many Easterlings also. But Náin's age was catching up with him and he could only defend himself for that long. When he was not careful enough, an enemy arrow struck him on the chest.

"Ceranos was the first to react. He shouted to all that were closest to him to come to his side and cover him while he tried to carry Náin away to safety. All of us responded to that call and fought fiercely to defend them both. The Easterlings tried to grab the body and claim it for their prize, but Lóin and I drew them off quickly, giving time for Ceranos to reach Náin. Ceranos quickly cradled his foster brother's body close to him, trying to help him somehow. But it was to no avail: Thrir's son was already dead. All Dwarves, Elves and Easterlings froze momentarily to hear the cry that cut through the air like a knife, easily drowning the battle cries and the clash of armour; for it was the scream of anguish for a loved one now gone.

"Then Ceranos arose, wielding his axe with such fury as I hadn't seen before and threw himself against our enemies. His madness was so frightening that none of the Easterlings dared to withstand it. We, however, took a new strength of heart and it seemed for a moment that the attackers had become the attacked.

"But that did not last long. For in that moment, a barrage of flaming orbs started falling among us, bringing us all to disarray. At that moment I felt it was only I that stood his ground and I turned around, trying to look for any of our own comrades, when my eyes fell on Lóin and Ceranos's forms. At that instant, one such orb hit the elf, knocking the helmet off his head and stunning him enough to fall on the ground. Lóin immediately rushed to his side and I tried to fight my way to them to help them; but more Easterlings came and pushed me even further away. And when the patriarchs shouted at us to retreat behind the walls of Erebor, there was no choice for me but to leave them behind.

"For three days we stayed under siege in Erebor, each day seeming blacker than the previous one. Finally, when it all seemed lost, the joyous news came that Sauron was destroyed and the Easterlings retreated, frightened. We didn't know how that came to pass but we did not care; for what mattered to us was that Middle-earth had won its freedom.

"Still, it was a bitter victory that we had earned, for everybody in the clan still remembered those who had died fighting, Dwarves and Elves alike. Even Dáin had died in battle, along with the King of the Iron Hills; so all we could do was smile bitterly and collect the dead that were still lying in the battlefield in order to give them a proper burial in the place they fell. That is where Náin is buried too."

"And Ceranos?" Aragorn asked hoarsely.

"I tried to look for him and Lóin personally, but neither of them was anywhere to be seen. I fear the Easterlings grabbed them and defiled them by stripping them off their armour and beheading them. Such were the Easterlings' foul ways, curse them!" Nôm said. "Several of the Dwarves and Elves that died during the battle had a similar fate, so I was not able even to recognise them among the bodies. The only thing that I was able to find of Ceranos was this," he added, rising and going to a corner of the room. When he returned, he was holding in his hands a great double-headed axe, too big to be wielded by a Dwarf, and he handed to the Man sitting before him.

"You recognise it," he said, noticing Aragorn's eyes shining.

"I do," the king said replied, holding the weapon reverently. "He had made it himself."

Nôm smiled a bit and then, after a small consideration, pushed it gently towards his guest.

"It is yours."

Aragorn looked at Nôm in shock. "This should stay with the clan," he said, attempting to give the axe back; but Nôm stopped him.

"It should stay with a friend and I am sure he would like you to have it. Take it and think of him from time to time."

The Man sighed in defeat and clenched his hands around the weapon, placing it at his side.

"Thank you," he said, and he stood back on his feet.

"You are welcome. I only wish I had better news to tell you then of his death. Farewell, Lord Elessar. And farewell to you too, Master Gimli."

Both king and Dwarf inclined their heads in courtesy and then left. It was with a heavy heart that they walked out of the gates of Nogrod to find Brego, who was grazing nearby. Gimli stood by the horse, ready to set out, but Aragorn didn't wish to leave just yet. Having the axe still in his hands, he turned to face the rocky slopes of the Blue Mountains.

"I kept my promise, my friend. But it seems the Valar have decided otherwise," he murmured with a sigh. He turned away, and both Man and Dwarf settled on Brego and set off to find the king's escort, Gimli sitting behind Aragorn. Even though he couldn't see it, Gimli was aware that his friend was shedding tears as they were riding.

**The End.**

**Footnotes**:

_Rakhâs-Ûdrig_: Orcbane (Khuzdul)

_A/n: Before people kill me for killing off Ceranos, I should point out that there's a reason his body wasn't found. But that's another story. ;)_


End file.
